


How Do You Sleep?

by ifishouldvanish



Series: How Do You Sleep? 'Verse [1]
Category: California Solo (2012), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anyelle, Anyem, F/M, Rumbelle - Freeform, Rumbelle Big Bang, Rumbelle Big Bang 2019, but you know me, fake married but actually married for real/marriage of convenience AU?, let's call it a romantic dramedy and leave it at that, lol, they'll get a happy ending, this is kinda all over the place in terms of genre tho, uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 04:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18161603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/pseuds/ifishouldvanish
Summary: When Lachlan is threatened with deportation after a DUI, he turns to his estranged wife for help– a groupie named Lacey he married one drunken night several years ago.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, man.

The first few times you were taken to a rockstar's hotel room, the sight was a little jarring.

Instead of a pristine room with a freshly made bed, you were greeted by a mess. Bottles and cans on the floor, sheets bunched around the foot of the bed, a foul smell of unknown origin.

But then again, Lachlan MacAldonich wasn't a rockstar. Not really, not anymore.

His hand dropped from where it had been resting on the small of Lacey's back as they reached the door of room 318. He swiped the card though the reader and thrust the door open, revealing a room with nothing more than a slept-in bed and a single worn outfit strewn across it.

“You ever like, totally trash one of these places?” Lacey asked as she stepped inside.

He headed straight for a brown bag on the otherwise pristine desk, next to one list of TV channels, and another of restaurants in the area that deliver. “Who do I look like?” he scoffed, “Bloody Axl Rose?”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “Axl’s got a cuter nose than you.”

Lachlan swatted a hand through the air. _“Fuck 'im.”_ he said, and there was the crinkling of paper before he spun around with a bottle of whisky in hand. “Pricks, all of them.”

He unscrewed the cap and took a quick swig straight from the bottle before setting it back down on the desk.

“We ah… we met… him, once, in ah… _fuck,”_ he laughed. “I don’t remember where, but– anyway, you uh… you… wanna drink?” he asked, eyelids drooped and his mouth slack. “There's ah… whisky, and… whisky?” he boasted with a lopsided grin, swaying a little before finding his balance against the desk.

Lacey nibbled her lip, taking in the state of him. He was more than halfway drunk, but so was she. Besides, he was cute, and she'd already set out this evening fully prepared to make a lot of bad decisions.

“Perfect.” She licked her lips. “Because I uh… happen to be a whisky girl.”

It was the fantasy, after all. Had been since the tenth grade, when she'd spend her nights locked up in her room listening to _Bank Street Waltz_ while poring over lyrics and smiling at one of the moody faces on the album's back cover.

The face she was looking at now.

It was older and more tired, of course. Hair a little longer and greyer. The man a little thinner and weaker. But she didn't mind that.

If being a groupie was just about fucking only the hottest guys, surely there were other, younger, more virile options.

If being a groupie was just about fucking only the most famous ones, she wouldn't still have her heart set on the guitarist-turned-solo act of a now-defunct nineties alt-rock outfit.

If being a groupie was about fucking only the most talented ones, there's no way the man in front of her would qualify.

No. Being a groupie was about love.

Not the sappy bullshit kind, of course. Lacey knew better than to fantasize about that trite shit.

But loyalty. Dedication. Reciprocity.

People liked to call groupies sluts; starfuckers looking for a taste of the glitz and glamour to appropriate for themselves. But that wasn't it at all. The one true thing in this life was rock and roll. Not a sound or a song, mind. But a gut feeling.

A gut feeling that a scrawny little shit from Scotland had given her back in 1996, and that she'd been dedicated to giving back to him ever since.

It would be a shame to back down now.

“So,” Lachlan slid a glass of whisky toward her, “you from around here?”

Lacey picked up the glass, hiding her snort behind it. She knew her accent was impossible to miss, nevermind what a cliche line it was. “No, uh… family's from Melbourne,” she said. “…Australia?”

His eyes widened at that. “Right, right.” he acknowledged, hiding his ignorance behind his own glass with a swig.

“Family moved to the states in ninety-five. They're in Maine. I moved to LA on my own in ‘01.”

“What ah…” he gestured in the air, “what brought you–”

“Same shit as everybody else, I guess.” she shrugged. “Have you ever been to fuckin’ _Maine?”_

“Aye.” Lachlan smiled, nodded. “Don't remember it,” he laughed, “but I'm sure I was there at some point.”

“Try Portland.” she said. “Ninety-seven.”

“Ah.” he nodded. Furrowed his brows. “Do– Have we… already–”

“I didn't get to go.” she answered. “Overbearing father and lack of funds.”

He smiled and leaned a little closer, giving her a once-over and licking his lips. “No such thing as lack of funds when you got legs like that, darlin’.”

Lacey huffed a little laugh though her nose. He was a leg guy? She could work with that.

“Yeah, well... I was _seventeen,_ so.”

He backed away and took another swig. “Well, ah wis just saying, like… now you know. For uh, next time, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll remember that,” she wet her lips, leaning on the dresser and lifting her leg up off the carpet so she could rub her ankle along his.

“You're… very beautiful.” he said, smiling dopily at her.

“Yeah? Is this the part where you tell me I’m not like all those other women who were _also_ waiting in line to suck your dick?”

“Aye,” he smiled. “You see, you simply had–” he took a swig of his whisky and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “the _best_ blowjob lips.”

“That's... _almost_ sweet.” Lacey smiled. “And here I thought it was because I was the only one still shorter than you in heels.”

“That… may have been a contributing factor,” Lachlan scoffed and leaned against the counter, finishing his drink and setting the glass down with a heavy thud. He reached an arm out to her, tucking his fingers inside the short sleeve of her dress before letting it drop to her waist.

“You get… more selective, ye know?” he mumbled, almost to himself. “Used to be you take _all_ the girls back with you.”

“What happened? You not exactly have the stamina for that anymore?” she teased.

He smiled, closed his eyes for a moment, then shrugged. “No…” he said slowly. “I’s just… too much, ye know? They're always… so… excited? And really ye just… well, ye don't want to party after a while. Just… have a drink and… have someone around to make sure you dinny have too much and choke on your vomit like that… that–”

“Bon Scott?” she finished for him.

“Yeah.” he nodded. “Yeah, that cunt. Anyway, it's like... I get that it's exciting to _them,_ ye know? But… it's hard to keep up with that after a while. Pretend you're as into it as they are, like?”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“So I just… liked your energy, ah suppose.”

Lacey rolled her eyes and laughed. “My _energy?”_

“Aye,” he nodded. “S’like… calm an’all.”

“Not sure I've uh… ever been told _that_ one before,” she laughed.

“Well. Now ye have, yeah?”

“You always sweet talk the women you sleep with first?”

“No.” he frowned. “Usually they've got some speech about how important the music is to them and shite, so it's like you fuck 'em soon as you can get them through the door so they can shut the fuck up.”

Lacey snorted into her glass.

“I know it sounds like a cock thing tae do, and it's not that I'm no’ flattered– but after the twentieth speech, you’ve really heard them all, ye know?”

Lacey grinned and nibbled her lip. “...I’ve got a speech for you,” she said.

He tilted his head.

Lacey took a swig of her drink and leaned into his ear. “Rock ‘n’ roll makes me really horny,” she whispered.

“Oh.” he said, blinking as though she'd caught caught him off guard. A smile crept across his face.

Lacey slid her hand over his, holding it in place where it sat on her hip. “You wanna fuck me now?”

He looked away and scoffed again, cheeks rounding as he smiled. “Aye,” he said, looking back at her legs. “I… would love to fuck you right now.”


	2. Chapter 1

_ Six years later _

 

Some things shouldn’t ever been seen in the light of day. Like the inside of a mediocre bar on Sunset Boulevard.

A good dive felt welcoming– cozy, even– at night. The dim lighting, the harsh glow of neon signs and TV screens, the anonymity of being surrounded by smells and voices and faces and music you could hardly make out over the din of everything else. But when the sunlight was bright enough to penetrate the front door, all of that disappeared– like a cockroach skittering across the bathroom sink and into the nearest dark corner once you turned the lights on to take your morning piss.

_ She was a cockroach, _ Lacey thought. A creature of the night, who normally knew better than to show her face in the middle of the afternoon unless she wanted to be crushed beneath someone’s boot, or smacked with a broom. The best case scenario was to elicit a brief shriek of terror and be stared at from afar, recognized as something icky to be avoided.

But the world belonged to the creatures of the day, and so here she was, in yet another establishment whose roaches weren’t due back until dusk.

It was important not to look desperate, Lacey reminded herself. Desperation put people off, made them uncomfortable. You had to play hard to get. Act like you didn't care.

She didn't  _ need _ this job. She just thought it might be fun. A great way to network. Meet hot guys. Flirt with the dates they were ignoring in favor of the mediocre band on the stage. Score big tips. At least, that's what Lacey kept telling herself, as she bit her cheek and watched yet another hiring manager skim her resume.

He was a heavy-set man in about his early forties, aged more by his dated sense of fashion than any signs on his face. What was it he'd introduced himself as?

Derek?

Devin?

Something with a D, definitely.

In any case, she didn't see a ring.

“I'm like, really passionate about supporting the local scene here in LA,” she told him, tossing her hair over her shoulder and flicking her gaze over his unimpressive figure. “Some of my favorite gigs have been at this place, you know?”

A day drinker a few seats away set his glass down with a thud. “I don't know…” he slurred, leaning back on his barstool to check out her ass. “I think I'd recognize  _ you, _ sweetheart.” 

Lacey pinned him with an icy stare, and he promptly found a renewed interest in his drink.

He was a cockroach too, but a dead one– belly up, by the dust-coated baseboards with its legs curled in. You just let those lie, because you didn’t want to be the one to have to pick it up.

“Anyway,” she continued, “if you ask me, this place ought to have the same kinda reputation as  _ CBGB _ or the  _ Haçienda Club.” _

The owner glanced over her resume again and gave her a skeptical look.

She twirled a lock of hair around her finger and wet her lips. “Just like, you know– minus the going bankrupt in a few years thing,” she giggled, being sure to lean over the bar closely. A little cleavage could go a long way, after all– which was good, because a little was all she had.

“So maybe more like the  _ Troubadour _ or the  _ Whisky?” _

The owner cleared his throat and hunched back over the counter, returning to her resume– and  _ how had she forgotten his name already?  _

Dennis?

Donald?

Darren?

He heaved a sigh and slouched his shoulders, and Lacey sank her teeth into her cheek a little more.

Bastard wasn’t giving her anything to work with.

“It’s just, so many of the venues here in LA are married to the same sounds,” she continued, and she was definitely starting to ramble, “but this place? Really fills a niche. Alt-rock, new wave, acid house, neo-psychedelia...”

He yawned and rubbed his eyes. “We'll keep you on file and let you know if anything opens up,” he said, slowly dragging her resume off the counter. 

Lacey groaned and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause I haven't heard  _ that _ line before.”

“Have a nice day.” he dismissed, turning back toward his office.

Lacey scowled and glanced around the bar. Playbills announcing local bands plastered the windows, and framed photos of famed alumni from years past covered the walls. 

Fuck it. She  _ was _ desperate.

“Look. Do you even  _ know _ who I  _ am?” _ she asked.

The owner paused, turned around. “No.” he shrugged. “...should I?”

“My  _ husband _ is Lachlan MacAldonich!”

He head lurched forward. “Who?”

Lacey sighed and folded her arms over her chest. “The Cranks?”

He tilted his head.  _ Darius? _

“I think she means The Cramps,” said the man at the bar. “The Clash? The Cars?”

Lacey fumed and turned toward him. “Hey. You.”

“What?”

“ _ Shut the fuck up.” _ she snipped, and turned back to the owner.

“This says Lacey  _ French,” _ he said, holding up her resume.

She looked up to the ceiling and took a deep breath. Name-dropping her loser ex for a job had to be a new low, even for her.

_ “So?” _ she asked. “What, you think a woman's got to take her husband's name? What kind of male chauvinist shit is that?”

He gave her a defeated look.

“Point is, I like, know people,” Lacey said. “In the business. Got connections, alright? Perhaps the name Wendel Barnes rings a bell?”

“Look,” the owner said, “I don't know about any of that, but you're a solid… Eight and a half I guess, and I like your energy. I'll… keep you in mind for events. My staff usually get swamped nights we have bigger acts.”

Lacey took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

_ Liked her energy. _ What the fuck did that even mean?

“Sure,” she gave a small nod. “That would be great, thank you.” She mustered a polite smile and a beat of eye contact, then spun on her heels to leave.

“Hey, wait–” the owner called after her.  _ Dylan? _

She froze and spun back around, brows raised.

“The Cranks.” he said. “That…  _ does _ ring a bell, actually.”

Lacey wet her lips to hide her shark-like grin. “Bank Street Waltz.”

“Ah, that's right...” he smiled, eyes locking somewhere on the wall behind her. “I remember now, yeah. That was some solid music. Shame the uh… guitarist died.” he said, gesturing at one of the framed photos. “Or was it the singer?”

Lacey glared at the photo on the wall and clenched her jaw at the sight of a young, smiling Lachlan. He had his arm around his brother's shoulders, and they seemed to be laughing about something, unaware of the camera while their bandmates posed beside them with earnest smiles on their faces.

“The singer,” she corrected bitterly. “ _ Jed _ MacAldonich.”

The man blinked. “Your brother in-law then?” he frowned. “Well, sorry for your loss.” he shrugged, setting back on his path to his office. 

Lacey deflated. Another interview gone nowhere.

“Yeah. I'll uh, give my husband your condolences.” she muttered before storming outside, but the hydraulic door gave no satisfying  _ slam _ as it shut behind her.

Lacey put her sunglasses back on, hesitating a moment before stepping into the ever-flowing stream of bustling pedestrians. There were still a few more places on the strip worth trying to land a bartending gig at, and surely her luck would turn around sooner or later. You just had to fall down a few times before you… 

_ Whatever. _

These people had to be complete morons not to hire her.

She was hot. (An eight and a half!) Young... enough. But most importantly, she could whip up a mean margarita and convince anyone pretentious enough to order a mojito at 11:30 on a Friday night that what they really wanted was a daiquiri instead. 

Lacey's phone buzzed in her purse, and she smiled at the hope of her first callback. Maybe it was the Roxy? The Viper Room? She fished it out of her bag and squinted to see the screen in the sun.

“What the  _ hell...” _

Surely she wasn't reading it right.

Damned glare or something.

She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and covered the screen with her hands to block out the sun, several shoulders bumping into her as the people behind her kept walking.

Nope.

She'd definitely read it right.

_ Lachlan. _

Son of a bitch, she thought.

She shouldn't answer it.

But God damn it if she wasn't curious, and how did the old saying go? Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back?

Taking a deep breath, she took the call. 

“What the fuck do  _ you _ want?” she muttered– because if she was going to take his calls, then she sure as hell wasn’t about to sound happy about it.

“Lacey!” Lachlan answered all too cheerfully, ignoring her attitude. “I’m wonderful, thanks for asking. How are you?”

“I'm fucking fantastic,” she said. “What do you want?”

“Are ye still in LA these days?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“What do you say we meet up at the old Roadhouse this weekend? Catch up.”

Lacey scoffed and slumped against the bus stop shelter. “Six years and _now_ you wanna catch up?”

“Well, what can I say?” he said. “I miss seein’ that tight Aussie arse bent over a pool table.”

Lacey rolled her eyes. “Yeah well, you know what I  _ don't _ miss?” she asked. “Seeing your  _ drunk Scottish ass _ bent over the crapper.”

He let out an amused chuckle. The kind that was always accompanied by one of those damned lopsided smiles of his.

“Alright, look.” he said. “I… I've got something I need to talk to ye about.”

Lacey sighed. She wanted to not care. But he actually sounded sober, and maybe…

_ “Like what.” _ she grit through her teeth.

“That… legally binding piece of paper that says you're my wife?”

“Oh.” Lacey perked up. “You finally got divorce papers?”

“Eh, something like that,” he mumbled evasively.

“I'm... available.” she said.

“When?”

“Well, you know me.” she shrugged. “I'm flexible.”

Lachlan huffed a little laugh. “You mean  _ unemployed?” _

She rolled her eyes and looked back at the bar she'd just come from. “Between stuff.”

“I’ll be downtown later this afternoon. Say, four-thirty? Five o'clock?”

“Sure.” she said. “But this better not be a waste of my time.”


	3. Chapter 2

The Roadhouse looked the same as it did six years ago. Mismatched bar stools. Walls covered in cheap paneling and flickering neon signs. Memorabilia from that time in the eighties when the Oakland Raiders were the Los Angeles Raiders. Pin-up posters from the seventies that some real fuckin’ mature jackass had poked holes in, right where the models’ nipples should be.

Lacey's pool table was still in the center of the room, along with all the same scratches and burn marks on the felt. The hundreds of dollar bills were no longer taped to the ceiling– but it had only been a matter of time before the fire inspector complained about those.

Her heels peeled and stuck to the grimy floors with each step she took, as though she was wading into a sort of quicksand that wanted to trap her into a past life.

At least, what she  _ hoped _ was a past life.

She'd been in and out of half the bars in Los Angeles today, but none of them felt quite like home as much as this one did. 

After all, it was the sort of place a cockroach belonged, no matter the time of day.

Lachlan was seated at one of the tables in the corner, and he, too, looked unchanged. She recognized the paisley shirt he wore, the heavy, tarnished silver bracelet on his wrist, the tired look on his face as he nursed a beer. Something in her heart tugged at the sight of him, like the banging of a drum, but Lacey knew better than to listen to it.

Nonetheless, she found herself seeking out her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. One of her hands crept up to fix her hair.

_Idiot,_ she scolded herself and dropped her hand, taking the seat across from Lachlan without any introduction.

“Alright, so first things first, asshole–”

He drew a sharp breath and sat up straight, blinking his eyes into focus on her.

“I'm not signing anything without my lawyer friend taking a look at it first,” Lacey said, setting her purse down on the empty seat between them. “I want what's owed to me and shit.”

Lachlan shook his head, blinking again and shifting in his seat. “I'm not here about divorce papers,” he said, taking a swig of his beer. “Also– I don't owe you  _ shite, _ a’right?”

Lacey threw her head back and groaned. “Then what the fuck am I doing here?” she whined. She plucked the drink menu from the caddy, scanning the signature drinks and daily specials.

Those, too, hadn't changed.

Lachlan hesitated, wetting his lips. “Alright, look. Ah’m gonnae get deported.”

Lacey dropped the menu onto the table with a _thwack._ _“What?”_

He stared at his bottle and started picking at the label. “Got a… DUI the other night,” he mumbled.

She started to roll her eyes, but stopped halfway. “Wait–” she squinted at him and leaned closer. “...They can  _ deport _ you for that?”

“That's what I thought,” Lachlan scoffed. “Turns out…,” he fidgeted in his seat, pulling something out of his back pocket. “I've got an old drug charge from back in ninety-seven, when I first toured the States.”

He unfolded a piece of paper and slid it across the table to her. Lacey skimmed it for a moment, picking up words here and there but not really reading it.

“I could've gotten deported years ago, but it just… fell through the cracks I guess,” he shrugged. “Until now, that is.”

Leaning back in his seat, he grabbed his bottle for another swig.

“So what the fuck is this?” she finally asked, circling a finger over the paper in front of her.

He uncurled a finger from around his beer so he could point.  _ “That _ is a list of reasons I might be able to stay.”

Her eyes skimmed over it again, still not reading anything. Phrases like  _ totality of circumstances, common consequences,  _ and  _ qualifying relative _ came up frequently enough to stand out, but her mind refused to comprehend their context. “...Okay. And?”

He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep, resigned breath that told her this wasn’t the first time he’d had this conversation.

“The only way I can stay, is if someone who's a proper citizen, claims my deportation would cause them what they call 'extreme hardship.’” he said, tapping a finger on the top of the form.

“I don't understand.” Lacey frowned. “We're still legally married. Doesn't that like, pretty much make you a citizen?”

“No,” he sighed. “Marriage just qualifies you for a green card. And I already have one of those from the old glory days.”

Lacey slumped in her seat and rubbed her hands over her face. “And you're telling me this because…?”

He didn't answer at first. Took a deep breath and glanced everywhere but at her face. “Look, I know this is–”

“Absolutely fucking insane?” she finished, because she did  _ not  _ like where this was going.

“Aye.” he agreed. “But I just…” He took another deep breath and leaned in, looking her in the eyes. “I canny go back, Lacey.”

Lacey could remember how she used to stare into those big, brown things. How kind she always thought they looked. How they would glow when the light hit them just so, and sparkle when he laughed. She could feel her pulse slowing, her lips beginning to tug into a sympathetic smile.

_ Damn him. _

She looked away, pursing her lips. “Why the hell not?” she demanded, staring the wall.

“Because…” Lachlan trailed off. He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. “I just  _ can't, _ a’right?” 

She looked back at him with a raised brow.

“Ye  _ know…” _ he said. “I-it's complicated.”

Lacey shook her head. “You've got to be fucking kidding–”

“Look, if you don't wannae, then just fuckin’ say so. But I'm desperate, a’right?” Lachlan said. “On paper, we've been together for  _ six _ years. It's my best shot.”

“Is it?” she asked. “It's not– oh, I don't know… Catheri–”

He snapped a finger at her, cutting her off. “That's none of your business.”

“And neither is  _ this!” _ she argued, gesturing at the invisible mess on the table. “I'm just saying: having a kid makes for a better sob story to tell immigration than having an estranged groupie wife!”

Lachlan clenched his jaw. “You  _ know _ I haven't seen  _ either _ of them in–”

“Ten years, has it been now?”

He leaned back in his chair and petulantly folded his arms over his chest, tapping his foot. “Aye.” he admitted. “Something like that.”

“Wow.” Lacey deadpanned. “It's almost like you wouldn't be in this situation at all if you hadn't spent the past  _ decade _ being a selfish jackass!”

“Oh? And just who are  _ you?” _ he snipped back. “Bloody Mother Teresa?”

“No! But I'm not the one with a fucking  _ kid, _ Lachy!”

“Since when do you give a shite about–”

“I have  _ always!  _ Given! A shit!” she barked at him. “Or were you just too fucking hungover all the goddamned time to remember?!”

“Oh,  _ piss off!” _ he rolled his eyes, waving her off dismissively. He hunched over the table and pointed a finger at her. “You knew what you were getting with me, Lace! And you  _ loved _ it– until you decided your  _ lightweight _ couldn't keep up anymore!”

Lacey bristled; a tight, hot feeling searing in her chest.

“So… get off your fuckin’ high horse,” Lachlan grumbled, easing back into his chair and gripping his beer bottle.

“I am  _ not _ a fucking lightweight.” she grit through her teeth. “It just took me a few months to realize that you have a fucking  _ problem.” _

“So ye ditched me? Some fucking loyal wife–”

“I'm not your fuckin’ keeper, Lachy! It was never my job to fuckin’  _ fix  _ you, alright?”

“Well I've been sober four years now, no thanks to you.”

Lacey threw her head back and laughed. “What the  _ hell _ are you talking about!? You  _ just _ got a DUI! You’re  _ literally  _ drinking a beer  _ right now! _

“It was a fluke!” he said, throwing his hands up. He picked his bottle back up and wagged it in front of her. “And what’s  _ one  _ beer?! Alright? I'm better now!”

Lacey arched a brow at him, not sure if he was simply on the defensive, or if he actually believed the shit he was saying. “...A high-functioning alcoholic is still an alcoholic,” she said.

Lachlan slouched and set the bottle back down. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, staring down at the table. “Arianwen's just– better off without me, alright?” he said quietly. “And Catherine won't help. ...Can't say I blame her.”

Lacey could feel her heart tugging toward him again. The urge to take that hand she’d pulled away from moments ago.

She buried it.

“I even drove out to the fuckin’  _ Hills  _ the other day so I could beg  _ Wendel _ for some money to pay my bloody lawyer.”

Lacey hunched forward. “What did  _ he  _ say?”

“Told me I was a talentless piece of shite who owed _ him _ money and to go get fucked.”

She scoffed. “Always knew that guy was a prick.”

“Well, he's not wrong, is he?

“Still,” Lacey said. “He could probably  _ wipe his ass _ with that money.” She rolled her eyes. “Would’ve spared  _ me _ having to sit here and listen to your problems.”

“Lace, come on…” Lachlan begged. “I haven’t bothered ye in  _ six _ year. You left– I respect that…” He wet his lips and tapped his fingers to his chest. “I wouldn’t be comin’ to you with this if there was any other way.”

Lacey swallowed hard. He looked as pathetic as she felt. Spending the prime years of their lives in a vicious cycle of sex and drugs and hangovers had led them here. Two grown-ass adults with nothing and no one, but a few great stories they could tell at parties– if only they still got invited to them.

She'd half expected for Lachlan to turn up dead– Not that anyone would have mourned him, of course. But maybe the DJ on  _ Rock 95.5 _ would have given him a shout before playing something off  _ Glass Houses _ . Delivered some corny line about him and Jed _ Bank Street Waltzing _ up in heaven.

Lacey hadn't quite expected to still be here herself. Not that she'd expected to be  _ dead _ or anything– just… not here, in this shitty bar, sitting across the table from the washed-up has-been she had the privilege of calling her husband.

No, she was supposed to have gotten her act together. Gotten her own place, and a car that didn't stall every time she rolled up to a stop sign.

They just deserved each other, it seemed.

She dragged the form across the table toward her. “So… You want me to sign this, and tell immigration that you can't leave the country because I'm… what? Financially dependant on you?”

“The long and short of it, aye.”

Lacey snorted. “First of all– you're a fuckin’ loser. No one's going to believe that I rely on you for financial support.”

“Aye, thanks.” he scoffed, a small smile warming his face.

“And second? Aren't there like, caseworkers who look into this shit? I can't just  _ say  _ I need you here, we have to prove it.”

Lachlan leaned back in his seat and sighed, smile gone as quickly as it came.

“I mean, what? Am I supposed to move in with you in case one of the fuckers drops by to check things out?” Lacey asked. “Have you actually given any of this a single thought like,  _ at all? _

Lachlan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I canny go back.” he shrugged.

“What's the big deal? It's not as if you're exactly livin’ the dream out here!”

“I just  _ can't.” _

Lacey sank her teeth in to her bottom lip and hooked a finger on her necklace, half-reading the form again.

“...I'll help you,” she finally said.  _ “If _ you give me a good reason.”

“Oh, come on!” he groaned, pulling away. “Like you wouldn't be kicking and screaming if you had tae go back to whatever Australian shitehole  _ you _ crawled out of!”

“Please!” Lacey rolled her eyes. “You  _ jockies _ are all over the place down there.”

Lachlan slapped his hand on the table. “What the  _ fuck  _ did you just say?”

Lacey pursed her lips glanced away. “You went there first.” she said in her defense. “And that's not even what I meant–  _ dumbass.”  _ She crossed her arms over the table and leaned forward. “I meant a good reason as in,  _ what's in it for me?” _

Lachlan held her gaze, but she refused to back down this time. 

“....Alright. Fuck this,” he said, swiping the paper from her hand and getting up. “Don't know why I even–” he reached into his pocket again and dropped a business card on the table. “I’ll be downtown again tomorrow. If you decide to stop being a heartless cunt sometime in the next twenty-four hours, let me know, aye?”

“Me? A heartless cunt?” she laughed after him as he walked away. “You're one to talk, pal!”

“Get fucked.” he hollered over his shoulder, holding a middle finger up in the air.

“Oh, I do! All the time!”

The door slammed behind him, giving him the last word.

“Asshole _ ,” _ Lacey muttered under her breath, swiping the card off the table.

_ Robinson Farms. _

She huffed a small laugh though her nose at the thought.

Lachlan's scrawny ass. Working on a _farm._

  
  


******

 

  
  


Lacey kicked her heels off before the front door of the apartment could close behind her.

“Hey, Rubes,” she hollered into the living room, “you won't believe the fuckin’ day I had.”

She placed her keys on the hook and walked down the hall, maneuvering her bra off from under her shirt and flinging it over the back of the couch without so much as a glance.

“I'm stopping by all the bars, you know, handing out my resumé, and guess who fucking calls me?”

Instead of a guess, Lacey received a cough.

She paused and turned around. “...Rubes?”

Ruby sat in the armchair in the corner, with her knees tucked under her chin. She didn’t answer, instead just staring at the floor.

“What?” Lacey asked. “I'm not a fucking mind reader, alright?”

“We... need to talk,” she said, quiet yet firm, and uncurled her legs, sitting up straight.

Lacey glanced around the room, throwing her hands up in an empty gesture.

Ruby swallowed. “I… need you out of the apartment by next week,” she said, still not meeting her eyes.

Lacey’s heart skipped a beat.  _ “What?” _

Ruby fidgeted on the couch. “You're… you're a  _ mooch,” _ she informed her.

“I'm a– I'm sorry,” Lacey snorted, “who the fuck says  _ mooch?!” _

Ruby scoffed, and finally found the nerve to look at her. “You're a slob, you don't carry your weight with groceries, you haven't paid your share of the rent in months,” she counted on her fingers, “and you–”

“Because I'm _ still looking  _ for a  _ job!” _ Lacey bellowed.

“And how many times have I told you, we always have a–”

“I’m not taking a job at the  _ fucking  _ diner!” 

Ruby looked up to the ceiling and sighed. “Yeah,” she said. “Because landing a gig at one of the cool, hip bars downtown is working out real well for you, isn’t it?”

“It’s LA,” Lacey rolled her eyes. “It’s _ competitive.” _

“Is it?” she asked. “Because here's what I think.”

Lacey crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall, turning to face her roommate head on.

“You don’t want a _ job, _ Lacey,” she began. “You want your whole life to be one big party that never ends. You want all these….  _ things, _ but don’t want any of the actual responsibility that comes with it. You half-ass everything you do, and when that doesn’t work, you run away and blame it on everybody else. You’re thirty years old. Don’t you think it’s time to start growing the hell up?”

Lacey stammered for a moment, throwing her hands up. At last, she took a deep breath, and took aim. “...You’re just bitter because your idea of a good time these days is trivia night at the  _ Applebee’s _ in Alhambra.”

Ruby huffed. “It’s closer to Granny’s new place,” she grit through her teeth.

“Exactly! While I’m drinking on some playboy’s dime and getting my pussy ate in a room at the Ritz-Carlton, you’re playing  _ name that tune _ with your lame-ass grandmother!”

Ruby’s nostrils flared. “You wanna call Granny a lame-ass to her face?”

Lacey swallowed. “...no.”

“That’s what I thought.” she nodded. She pulled her legs up and sat cross-legged in the chair, tugging the throw blanket draped over the back of it into her lap. “She worries about you, you know.”

Lacey rolled her eyes. “For the last time, I’m not taking your charity job offer at the fucking diner!”

“Look. The bottom line is, Lace, that Dottie and I are tired are giving you a free ride. Rent in this building ain’t cheap, and if you don’t wanna eat your humble pie and get a job so you can start paying rent around here, I’m sure we’ll have no problem finding somebody else who will.”

“...Some friend you are.”

“Oh, don’t give me that shit!” Ruby shouted, and shrunk back in her seat, as if startled by the sound of her own voice. “If… if you don’t have all your crap out of here by next week, we’re… we’re  _ throwing  _ it out.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” Lacey snipped, already storming towards her bedroom. “Because I’m out of here. Tonight.”

Ruby sighed. “Lace, come on–’”

“Shut up.”

“Well, don't act like this is such a surprise!” she shouted. “We've  _ told _ you–”

Lacey slammed the door behind her. Heart racing, she put her hands on her hips and looked out at the mess of clothes covering the floor and her bed. The scattered shoes, the makeup, the empty cans and bottles, the  _ mess _ that all belonged to her.

The shock began to wear off, and for the first time in six years, Lacey French felt  _ scared. _

She'd packed up her things and left before, but last time she'd had a destination. Hopes, dreams, and possibilities waiting for her to come and seize them.

What did she have now?

Lacey drew a trembling breath, feeling her eyes become wet with tears.

She wiped them away and got to work.

Most of it she decided she wouldn't take with her. Clothes that didn't fit, that had gone out of style, that reminded her just how much of an act her existence had become.

There had been a time when all the drinking and parties were actually fun, but somewhere along the way they're just become distractions from how much she hated the person she'd become.

Throwing out Lacey French's clothes was a lot easier than the alternative: actually growing the hell up.

Two garbage bags and a few shoe boxes made it into the boot of her Camaro. Once her pride and joy, now it felt more like an embarrassment. The cobalt blue paint looked dull beneath its weathered clear coat, the T tops leaked when it rained, and the damned carburetor still flooded no matter how much money she threw at a mechanic to fix it.

Lacey made one last trip back to her bedroom. She almost felt bad for leaving so much shit behind but she wiped that away, too. After grabbing her purse off the bed and her phone off the nightstand, she was ready to say goodbye.

Ruby was still in her chair, blanket tugged up to her chin while she stared blankly at the floor. 

Lacey tossed a crumpled five dollar bill on the coffee table, and Ruby risked a curious glance up at her.

“I finished the last of the garbage bags,” Lacey told her. “Didn’t wanna be accused of  _ mooching _ again.”

Ruby said nothing.

An hour later, Lacey was sitting in her POS under one of the lights in a Denny's parking lot, scrolling through the contacts on her phone.

She might be a broke, jobless, friendless, loser– but she was still resourceful, and she knew better than to waste what little money she had left on a musty motel room when a warm bed was just a few phone calls and a quick fuck away.

She skipped past the names who she suspected might still be angry with her. The names she owed money– or worse, an apology. The names she couldn't trust to not be total creeps.

At the very bottom of the list, was one viable option.

She hit dial and waited as the line began to ring, and ring, and ring. “Come on, Will… pick up, pick up…”

“Hey, Lace. What's up–”

“Will!” Lacey cried in relief, before remembering to add two lumps of sugar to her voice. “Hey… hey, are you um… you doin’ anything tonight? I'm like, really bored and I was thinking maybe we could…  _ you know–” _

“Sorry. I can't. M’back with Anastasia.”

Lacey swallowed, and her throat felt so dry. “Oh,” she managed weakly. “Ok.”

“...Lace?” he asked. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine.”

He scoffed. “Well, you don't  _ sound–” _

“I said I'm fine!” Lacey snapped. “Look, if you're not down, then just don't worry about it! God, you're the worst booty call ever!” she said, hanging up and hurling her phone onto the passenger seat. It bounced and feel on the floor, the cheap case popping off and rattling around by the floor mat.

She let out a heavy sigh and and grabbed her purse off the passenger seat, rifling through it for a cigarette. Her flask. A piece of gum. Something.

Instead, she found the card Lachlan had given her yesterday.

_ Robinson Farms. _

It gave her an address out in Antelope Valley. Exactly where that was, Lacey didn't know– but her intuition told her somewhere north, in the middle of Bum-fuck, Nowhere.

She rolled her eyes and flipped the thing over. There was some additional information there– A number for wholesale orders and arranging home deliveries. There was another line of text across the bottom, and she moved her thumb to read it.

_ FIND US AT THE LA FARMER'S MARKET EVERY WEEKEND! _

Lacey bit her cheek, digging the corner of the card into the pad of her finger.

It was a bad idea.

Terrible.

But he needed a favor, and she needed someplace to sleep. And bathe.


	4. Chapter 3

Four inch heels were a bad choice.

Despite how densely packed the dirt was, they stabbed and sank into the ground with every step she took.

_ Where the hell was the son of a bitch? _ Lacey thought.

Crying herself to sleep in the car last night had left her with a nagging headache and a cramp in her neck– and how much demand could there  _ possibly _ be for organic goat milk soap to warrant having five different vendors peddling the shit?

“Fuckin’...  _ farmer's market.” _ she muttered under her breath.

“Lacey!” a familiar voice called after her. 

She smiled and turned around, scanning the booths for Lachlan's face. Her eyes soon landed on him, and she swallowed.

The man she'd met up with yesterday was such a sad, pathetic thing. But this one was smiling, standing proudly over his colorful display of fresh vegetables. The California sun was gleaming off his hair, while the smooth bit of chest exposed by a crisp white v-neck glistened with the beginnings of sweat.

_ No, _ Lacey scolded herself.  _ You do  _ not _ want to fuck him. _

“Rough night, eh?” he teased before her thoughts could wander any further.

Nudging her oversized sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, she sauntered up to the booth. “Yeah, well. You know how I like it.”

“I could sell you some kale?” he offered with a smirk. “You could make yourself a nice green smoothie with some Greek yogurt and chia seeds, might help with–”

Lacey scowled, leering around at the other shoppers. “What do I look like? One of these… granola munching... anti-vaxxer… yoga moms?”

“Aye.” Lachlan swept his eyes over her and hiked his brows. “That outfit? Ye blend right in, darlin’.”

Lacey looked down at her legs, cased in black nylons, and tugged down the ever-rising hem of her mini dress. She wrapped her leather jacket, bright red against the market’s sea of earth tones and neutrals, more tightly around herself.

Her eyes wandered to the truck parked behind the booth, where a teenager was unloading a box from the bed.

“What's with the kid?” she asked.

“Oh. Oh, Julian,” Lachlan smiled, tapping the boy on his shoulder. “Come, there's someone I'd like you to meet.”

He hefted the box on the table and looked up at her with a blank expression.

“Julian, this is my ah,  _ wife. _ Lacey.” Lachlan said, and if Lacey didn't know any better, she'd swear he sounded proud of the fact.

Julian blinked at the two of them in confusion. “I didn't know you were married.”

“Yeah.” Lacey waved. “Stay away from the drink, kid.”

He gaped at her for another second or two. “Huh. Nice to meet you,” he said, turning his attention back to a crate of tomatoes.

“So.” Lachlan planted his hands on the edge of the table, leaning over. “What brings ye here, Lacey?” he asked coolly.

“You know damned well why I'm here,” she said, refusing to look at him. Feigned interest in a nearby vendor selling old vinyl records instead.

“Ah.” he grinned, standing tall. “You've given my offer some thought then?”

Lacey let out an indignant huff. “Look. If you need someone to crash at your place and like,  _ pretend _ to give a shit about you… I might have an opening, I guess.”

Lachlan’s grin widened, and he raised his brows expectantly.

Lacey pursed her lips and looked at the ground. “Ruby kicked me out and I have no place to go.” she confessed. _ “That I've checked. _ Because I know plenty of people. I just figured I'd do you a solid by–”

“Offering your  _ services _ to me first?” he laughed.

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” She rolled her eyes. “As if your illegal immigrant ass has any sort of high ground right now.”

“Hey–” his smile dropped, and he raised a finger at her. “I'm not illegal. I've got a green card. EB-1A extraordinary ability, alright?”

“Yeah,” Lacey snorted, “whoever approved you for one of those probably got fired the next day.”

“Well it was extraordinary enough for ye to wannae suck my–”

_ “Whatever.” _ she cut him off. “You're still getting deported.”

Lachlan shut his mouth, corners pinched as he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Right enough. But aye. The ah…  _ offer _ is still on the table.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “So what do I gotta do exactly?”

“Oh… Just sign some papers, be my little wife until this shite blows over.” he explained, lowering his voice as another customer approached. They wandered to the far end of the table while Julian greeted her.

“How long is that gonna take?” Lacey asked.

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Weeks? Months?”

_ “What!? _ ”

“Look, I'm sure it won't be  _ that _ long,” he whispered, darting a pointed glance in Julian’s direction. “I do have ah…  _ certain things _ going for me, eh?” he added, gesturing at his tanned, albeit still white, face.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.” Lacey rolled her eyes.

He threw his palms up. “No offense to anyone! Jus’ being honest, like.”

“Whatever,” she said, shrugging the comment off. “You give me a place to sleep, I'll do whatever you need me to until I like… get bored.”

“Aye?”

_ “Aye.” _ she mocked him. “You got the papers or what?”

“Sure, sure.” he nodded, disappearing for a moment to get the application from the truck. “Right here.”

Lacey grabbed it from him with fluttering, impatient hands. The thing had to be about ten pages long, but much to her relief, Lachlan's breezy penmanship already filled most of them. It wasn't until one of the last few pages that she was faced with a series of blank lines.

_ In the space provided below, explain the extreme hardship that you would experience if the applicant is refused the immigration benefit he or she is seeking. For more information on extreme hardship, see Form I-601 Instructions. If you need extra space to complete your statement, use the space provided in  _ **_Part 10. Additional Information_ ** _ or attach a separate letter. _

It finally sank in for her then. That he  _ needed _ her help.  _ Needed  _ this to work. Dozens of elaborate lies crowded her mind, and Lacey clenched her eyes shut. Up until yesterday, couldn’t have cared less if she never saw the bastard again, but this was somehow different. 

Lacey wiped her sweaty palms over her thighs. She tapped the pen on the table for a moment, jot something down, and slid the application across the table.

“There.”

Lachlan picked it up and examined it for a moment. “...Financially dependant  _ and _ have a sick da.” he blinked. “Nice touch, that.”

Lacey looked off in the distance and brought a hand up to tug her slipping bra strap back into place. “What can I say?” she smiled back at him. “I'm an excellent bullshitter.”

“That you are.” he said, and jerked his head over his shoulder. “C’mere.” 

Lacey frowned. “What?”

He smirked and gestured for her to come closer. “C'mere.”

Rolling her eyes, she obliged.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, honey.”

Lacey scowled and pulled away, schooling her glare into a put-on smile. “Well, you know,” she said sweetly, _ “anything _ for you, baby.”

“Such a good little wife,” he said, digging a few bills out of his wallet. “Here. Get yourself somethin’ nice.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she said, smacking his hand away.

His shoulders bounced as he laughed, and he carefully tucked the money away. “Hey, ah... How'd you get out here?” he asked.

Lacey took a deep breath. “Took the IROC.”

Lachlan raised his brows. “You're still  _ driving _ that piece of shite?”

“Hey!” she squawked, and he laughed again.

“It  _ stalls _ every time ye roll up to–”

“I know what she does!” Lacey cut him off, chuckling despite herself. “...But she's my baby, alright?”

He arched a brow, and she rolled her eyes again.

“I get around mostly by public transport these days,” she said. “But I have all my shit in the trunk now, so...”

“Nomad, eh?” he said, as though it was something cool and tough to brag about. She wished.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Lachlan's eyes narrowed as they skimmed over her. “Well, the farm's a two, three hour drive from here,” he said at last. “Think your  _ bairn _ can make it?”

Lacey blew a tendril of hair out of her face. “Probably not,” she sighed. “I'm leaking transmission fluid like a sieve, so it's probably just a matter of time before the whole casing explodes. Thing shifted so hard last night, I almost hit the car in front of me when I was pulling out of my parking spot.”

He grimaced, eyes bulging in a way that made her smile again. It brought up memories of lazy mornings in bed, light banter exchanged between kisses. If his corny jokes didn't get a laugh out of her, his silly faces always did.

“It's happened before,” she said, shaking the memories away. “And the asshole called the cops cause he just  _ assumed _ I was wasted.”

“You?” he pretended to be shocked.  _ “...never!” _

“Please,” Lacey rolled her eyes, folding her arms over her chest. “I can hardly afford to get  _ buzzed _ these days, let alone  _ wasted.” _

“I don't recall that ever being a problem for  _ you,” _ he said and leaned over, elbows on the table. His eyes briefly wandered over her legs, and a dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth as he grinned. “...Used to have 'em linin’ up to buy you a drink.”

Lacey opened her mouth to argue. Instead, she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him.

_ Was he seriously flirting with her right now? _

“...Well, I'm afraid I'm not much to look at anymore,” she admitted. “Not when there's a bunch of cute sorority girls celebrating their bestie's twenty-first a few tables away.”

“Eh,” he dismissed with the wave of his hand. “They're always crashin’ come eleven, and if they're not crying over nowt, they're puking on your shoes.”

Lacey shook her head and laughed.

“But me and you? We used to close the bar every night!” he boasted, giving her a light smack on the arm. “Those were good times!”

“Yeah, and look where it got us,” she rolled her eyes.

Lachlan gave a tight-lipped smile and sighed. “Right enough,” he said. “Well, we should have room in the truck for you and your stuff if ye want. Can leave the piece of shite behind.”

“Hey!” Lacey cried, a sudden panic flaring in her chest. 

“We can come  _ back _ for it!” he laughed. “Just don't have a tow bar with us is all!”

She looked over her shoulder to where she had parked the car– not that she could actually see it. “Come back when? _ Next weekend? _ She'll probably be  _ stolen _ by then!” Lacey laughed, but her heart sank at the thought. “Or… or get her windows smashed in before the person responsible realizes she isn't worth it.”

“So?” Lachlan shrugged. “File an insurance claim. Can probably get yourself a nice ‘99 Corolla with only two-hundred thousand miles on it,” he joked. “It’d still be about two steps above that piece of shite.”

Lacey glared at him, wrapping her arms around herself with a huff. He wasn't wrong. But that piece of shit really  _ was _ all she had. She'd driven to this city all the way from Storybrooke in that piece of shit. It was a  _ part  _ of her.

“Look– that piece of shit is all I got,” she confessed. “Alright?”

Lachlan looked over her again, but the salaciousness that had been in his eyes moments ago wasn't there anymore. “...Tomorrow, then,” he said.

She tilted her head at him. _ “Tomorrow?” _

“Aye. Tomorrow. Soon as I finish my jobs for the day,” he said, “we'll make the trip back here.”

She smiled at him for a long moment, then let one of her hands drop to her side. “Thanks.”

_ “Hey, Lachlan,”  _ Julian called out.

Ignoring him, Lachlan shrugged. “Don't thank me yet.  _ You're  _ gonnae have to drive. And pay for gas.”

_ “What!?” _

“I got a DUI!” he reminded her. “My license is suspended!”

“I don’t know how to  _ tow a car!” _

“What do you mean you don’t know how to tow a car?” he asked. “I’ll install the brackets and hook it up– you just have to  _ drive, _ Lace.” A smug grin spread across his face, and he wet his lips.  _ “...Slowly… carefully…” _

Lacey sighed and shook her head. “See,  _ now  _ you’re just asking too much.”

_ “Lachlan?” _ Julian called out again.

He gave him and fleeting glance and turned back to Lacey. “It’ll be fine,” he winked. “Now go–” he smacked her arm again and nodded across the parking lot, “get your shit outta the car.”

Lacey rolled her eyes at him one last time before heading to the car. After a few paces, she caught herself smiling, and fighting the urge to look back. 

Surely she could recognize what a terrible idea this all was while still kind of enjoying it, right? Indulge the little part of herself that still...

Giving in, Lacey looked over her shoulder.

Lachlan was already helping a new customer, and she could follow the conversion they were having by his mannerisms and facial expressions alone. He smiled widely and nodded at something the customer said, and Lacey's traitorous heart fluttered in her chest.

Maybe she'd been to harsh yesterday, too cold.

After all, six years was enough time for someone to change, wasn't it? To get better? Maybe the whole DUI thing really was just a fluke.

_ No. _

Lacey shook her head and continued on her way. Six years had only sunk her deeper– deep enough to be living out of her damned car.

She dropped into the driver's seat, hesitating before sliding the keys into the ignition. The engine was still warm, and she resigned herself to the fact that it might take a while. Still beat the alternative of carrying two garbage bags full of her own crap across the parking lot in these shoes, though.

Taking a deep breath, she turned the key.

The engine chugged slowly a few times before sputtering out and she rolled her eyes. “Come on, you bitch…” she muttered and tried again, only to achieve the same result.

With a sigh, Lacey gave the accelerator two quick pumps with her foot and tried again. The result sounded promising, but she held her breath. The rumbling soon began to slow, and she slammed her foot on the gas pedal again. The engine roared, and she tentatively eased off, not relaxing her shoulders until she was able to release the pedal completely without the car stalling.

After checking her mirrors half a dozen times, she shifted into reverse and slammed on the gas before the damned thing could have another chance to stall. Her ties screeched as she jerked out of her parking spot, and again when she put the car in drive and lurched forward.

At long last, Lacey managed to pull around the back of the lot and park alongside the truck. She slumped over the steering wheel, already exhausted, and cut off the engine.

God, she just wanted to lie down and go to bed already. To just ignore the world and feel sorry for herself for five more fucking minutes.

But the door beside her clicked and swung open.

“Gotta hand it to you, it's a beautiful ride,” Lachlan said, holding it open for her.

“Yeah,” she grumbled, awkwardly climbing out of the bucket seat in her heels. “Sure is.”

“Need a hand?” he asked, nodding toward the trunk.

Lacey tugged the hem of her dress back down, and she just couldn't resist the temptation to check if he was staring. No job, no money, and a car that hardly worked– but at least she still had nice legs.

“Nah, I got it,” she said, glancing up at him and hating the pang of disappointment she felt when he she caught him staring off at something else in the distance.

_ Whatever. _

She rounded over to the trunk and popped it open, hauling the first bag out and hurling it onto the bed of the truck. 

_ “Beau!”  _ Lachlan called out. “How've you been?”

Lacey did a double-take, and her overstuffed garbage bag tumbled back down at her.

_ He was on a first name basis with these people? _

“I'm alright,” a woman's voice answered. “What have you got for me today, Lachlan?”

The voice was cheerful, sweet, and belonged to a pretty thing around Lacey's own age.

Smiling, Lachlan leaned over the table. “Oh, you've simply got to try the tomatoes,” he said. “Sweetest, juiciest, ones yet.”

Lacey knew that smile. She'd been on the receiving end of it more than once. It was his, _ “I want to get in your pants” _ smile.

She rolled her eyes.

_ “You're _ a new face,” Beau said, acknowledging her with a friendly smile.

“Ah…” Lachlan stammered, and Lacey couldn't help enjoying the bit of panic in his eyes.

“Name’s Lacey.” She extended her hand across the table with a shit-eating grin. “I'm the wife no one knows about.”

Beau's expression fell, and her mouth hung open.  _ “Oh.” _

“It's cool,” Lacey winked. “We're separated. Have been for six years.”

“Oh,” she said again, shaking her hand and relaxing a little.

“Just don't ask what I'm doing here,” Lacey said. “It's a long story.”

“And quite frankly not very interesting,” Lachlan added.

“...Got it,” Beau chuckled and smiled down at a nearly empty crate.  _ “‘Peachy tomatoes _ ,’” she read aloud, “That's a new one.”

“Sounds daft until you take a bite out of one,” Lachlan said, wetting his lips.

“Well, it just so happens that I'll be needing a few for dinner tonight,” she said, lifting her chin. “Doing a skillet thing. Garlic, tomato, basil…”

“You know, you keep telling me about these elaborate dinners of yours… don't suppose I might be able to taste the fruits of my labor some time, eh?”

Lacey groaned and rolled her eyes again, before hefting the bag back into the bed of the truck.

“Hmm… perhaps, sometime,” Beau teased.

“Don't think I won't hold you that,” Lachlan said,  already digging through the crate for the tastiest looking bunch of tomatoes he could find.

“I'd be disappointed if you didn't.”

“Sounds like an invitation to me,” he scoffed, bagging and handing them over. “Should I come by around… six? Or more like seven?”

Beau chuckled and shook her head. “What's the damage on these?”

“For you?” Lachlan tossed his hair out of his face, lopsided smirk firmly in place. “Two fifty.”

_ The sign said five,  _ Lacey thought sourly.

“So. Anythin’ else I can get for you, Beau?” he asked.

The two of them went on, flirting over carrots and onions, celery and heads of cabbage. Lacey was waiting for one of them to finally cut the crap and ask the other out, but the question never came. Soon Beau's reusable, eco-friendly shopping bag was loaded with enough vegetables to feed a small country, and Lachy announced her absurdly discounted total of twelve dollars.

Beau smiled and tilted her head at him appreciatively before digging into her wallet and handing him the cash. “Thank you...” 

“Thank  _ you.” _ he winked.

Lacey indulged in another eye roll as Beau walked away, smiling back over her shoulder at him as she went.

“Beau, huh?” she said.

Lachlan busied himself with putting the money in the lock box. “...What?”

“She's cute.”

“Cuter than you,” he said. “And did ye have to say you were my wife? Couldn't say you were my cousin or something?”

Lacey snorted. “Your  _ cousin? _ Seriously? That would've come back to bite you in the ass so fast, you'd have gotten  _ whiplash.” _

“Eh,” Lachlan shrugged. “Ah suppose.”

“So tell me: do you give discounts  _ every _ time a customer makes you  _ feel funny down there?” _

“Oh, give us a break,” he scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s no' like that. She just… likes me. Not for The Cranks, but like, for  _ me, _ ken?”

Lacey snorted loudly. “Oh, this is  _ so _ not you.”

“You don't know that.” he said. “I've… changed and shite.”

_ “Changed? _ You just got a DUI, and you wanna tell me you've  _ changed?” _ Lacey snickered, shaking her head. “No. This isn't the real you, this is your  _ retail persona.” _

“I don't know what you're on about.”

“Everybody who works retail has a customer service persona. And this is yours.”

“So?”

“Don't get me wrong. It's a great persona. You're looking like every suburban white lady's wet dream; Bad boy who used to do lines of coke for breakfast and down half a bottle of Jim for dinner– reformed into  _ this _ . This soft… friendly… white v-neck wearing, vegetable farming–”

“What's wrong with my shirt!?”

Lacey pursed her lips and sighed.  _ “Nothing, _ okay? You like… you look hot.” she mumbled quietly.

“Ah!” he grinned.

“Don't let it go to your head–” she said, folding her arms over her chest.  _ “Everyone _ knows: you put a white v-neck on a guy, and it makes him look  _ some _ kind of hot, alright? It's like, science.”

Lachlan looked at her blankly.

“Point is, you're just a regular dirtbag who puts on his friendly farmer's market suit in the morning, and when you get home, it all comes right off. So while  _ Beau _ totally wants to take farmer's market Lachy for a ride, she'd run the other way if she ever caught a glimpse of actual Lachy and you know it.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” she asked innocently.

He shot her a defeated look.

“You know, you should be glad we're married, honestly,” Lacey said, helping herself to a red delicious from one of the crates. “I've seen  _ all _ your ugly, and I'm still here, lying to the government for you.”

“Aye, well. So have I.”

“Please,” she bit into the apple with a loud crunch. “My ugly ain't  _ shit _ compared to yours.” A trail of juice began to dribble down her wrist, and she licked it off seductively, looking him in the eyes.

“You know what? Fine,” he shrugged. “I’ve got a problem with alcohol. I can admit that now. But you? You're just a terrible person.”


	5. Chapter 4

Three hours had been way too long to be squeezed into the bench seat of a pickup truck with two other people. Especially when you had the misfortune of being assigned the middle seat because, “you’re just the smallest.”

The past twenty-four hours had been exhausting, and with her stomach full from the fast food they’d grabbed on the way, Lacey was eager to get a shower and curl into bed. She’d even volunteered to help Lachlan and Julian unload the truck, if for no other reason than to speed up the process so they could get home sooner.

It was dark by the time Julian dropped them off in front of a small row of modest, prefabricated houses. She followed Lachlan up to the front porch of the first of them, which had an old, rough-looking Ford Bronco parked outside. The place had potential, but the absence of any homey touches made the white-shingled exterior look austere. There were no welcome mats, no potted plants, no inviting rocking chairs. Hell, even a damned gnome could have gone a long way, Lacey thought.

Lachlan wiggled his keys into the lock until the door popped open. He stepped aside, inviting her to enter first.

 _“My, what a gentleman,”_ Lacey teased. She struggled with her bags as they bumped into the doorframe, but eventually made it through and had her first look at the place Lachlan was calling home these days.

She'd tried to lower her expectations on the drive over. But the inside proved to be just as dull as the outside. It had about the same appeal as a room-temperature glass of tap water that had been sitting on the nightstand for three days and tasted like dust.

The carpet was beige. The walls alternated between cheap white paneling and more beige. Cabinets? Beige. Countertops? Beige.

“Oh my God…” Lacey groaned, dropping her bags on the floor.

“What?” Lachlan bumped up behind her. “It's no’ so bad.”

Lacey's eyes wandered to the sofa, and by God, the pilling on the upholstery could've been seen from Mars.

“Remind me again, why I thought this was a good idea?” she asked.

“Because,” Lachlan shrugged, brushing past her. “You're a fucking loser with no place to sleep.”

Lacey heaved a sigh. “That's fair.”

He stepped forward, pushing a door to his right open. “You can get your shower in here,” he said, and continued into the kitchenette. “Should be towels under the sink.”

Her eyes followed him, but stopped when they landed on a giant fish tank. There were no fish in it, of course (nor any water, for that matter) but there _was_ some kind of tarp and a filter sitting inside.

“Didn't know you were a fish guy,” she said.

“I’m not.” He was staring into the fridge, but seemed to give up on finding anything and shut the door. “...Came with the place,” he shrugged.

“Ah. Classy.” Lacey nodded. “You've lived here _how_ long now?”

“About four year.”

She scoffed and walked up to the tank, frowning when she found it was just as boring up close as it was from a few yards away. “You ever think of like... selling it on Craigslist or something?”

“Sure,” he said, but his indifferent tone of voice told her he had no interest in bothering.

Lacey dragged a finger along the glass, studying the dust that accumulated on her finger for a moment before rubbing it off. “Maybe a turtle,” she suggested, looking over her shoulder at him.

Lachlan raised his brows.

“I dunno. Seems about your speed,” Lacey shrugged, moving on to the shelves of records on the back wall.

It was an impressive collection, and she'd kind of missed it. She ran her fingertips over the spines of the sleeves, some of which had seen so much use that the titles had completely worn off. She slid one of the most eroded ones out so she could see.

The cover had no title or artist on it, but she quickly recognized the purple artwork as New Order's _Brotherhood._

It had been one of Jed's, she could figure. Despite being the younger of the two, Lachlan's taste had always run a little more old school– 70s glam rockers and proto-punk powerhouses. But in interviews, Jed had always cited new wave, post-punk, and alternative as his biggest influences.

Lacey didn't have any siblings, and Jed had already been gone for years when she and Lachlan met. Her mind wandered back to the bar from yesterday– to the photo of them on the wall, to their smiles– and for a brief moment, she could almost imagine how it might feel to lose a brother. The unshakable loneliness of losing someone you’d known your whole life and looked up to.

She carefully, respectfully slid the record back into place. “Guess I'll go shower, then.”

When Lacey opened the door to the bathroom, she found it surprisingly tidy and free of beard trimmings. A nosy peek inside the medicine cabinet revealed a can of Barbasol, a toothbrush and a shrivelled, half-empty tube of toothpaste, and various bottles of painkillers and cold medicines– some of which had expired over a year ago. Lacey shrugged. She felt a bit disappointed if she was honest with herself– not that she was sure what else she'd expected to find.

There was another door, ajar on the opposite wall. She peeked beyond it and saw the bedroom– its modest furnishings cloaked in shadow while a few small rays of moonlight filtered through the cheap blinds and fell across the bed. Or maybe it was just the floodlight on the neighbor's house.

Once in the shower, Lacey was tempted to close her eyes and just let the water beat down on her shoulders for half an hour. But running up Lachlan's water bill seemed like a dick move, and so she settled for a only few seconds of bliss before grabbing the bottle of shampoo from the caddy.

She flipped the cap and gave it a few gentle squeezes so she could sniff. It had that generic ‘manly’ scent she couldn't quite identify the notes of– something she knew she'd smelt before, but couldn't recall on whom. She _supposed_ it smelled like Lachy. But it didn't, really. It lacked the warmth, the depth, the character, the appeal– without his skin and sweat, his whisky and cigarettes to mingle with.

Lacey heaved a sigh and squeezed some into her palm, grateful the bottle was free of any _three-in-one_ claims promising her the most brittle hair of her life.

She took her time drying off. Changed into clean panties and an oversized t-shirt before returning to the living room, where she found Lachlan unfurling a sheet over the sofa.

“...What the hell are you doing?” she asked.

He cast a brief glance over his shoulder in her direction. “Setting up the couch. You can take the bed, I'll sleep out here.”

Lacey pouted her lips for a moment. “...Okay.” she shrugged, grabbing her bags and brushing past him to the bedroom.

“Wait.” she stopped in the doorway. “Why don't we just share the bed?”

He looked over his shoulder at her again, as though she had three eyes.

“What? We're _adults_ here!” she said. _“Married_ adults. You really wanna sleep on the couch every night for God knows how many weeks?!”

His eyes flicked down to her legs and his lips parted. “I mean… ah suppose. We could… share the bed.”

Lacey caught him staring and smiled inwardly. “What's the worst that could happen?”

  


*****

  


Lacey blinked up at the ceiling, watching the fan spin above them in the darkness. It sent a breeze that landed on her dewy skin, giving her bare shoulders a pleasant chill.

“So… That was a one time thing.” she finally said.

“I know,” he said, rolling over to the nightstand for a cigarette.

“Just... getting it out of the way.”

“Aye,” he agreed, flicking his lighter. “Giving it the old nip in the bud.”

“Because let's be honest,” Lacey said. “We're both total horndogs. If it we didn't do it, we'd totally both be _thinking_ about doing it.”

He took a long drag and handed it to her. “Canny argue that.”

“And it’s not like it _means_ anything,” she said, accepting it from him. “It's just…” she trailed off took a puff.

“I'm mature enough to admit I still think you're an attractive woman,” he shrugged. “Desirable an’ all that.”

“Yeah.” she said, passing it back to him. “I mean, we wouldn't even be in this batshit situation in the first place if I didn't ever think you were like, a good looking guy. If anything, it would be immature to like, _pretend_ we're not interested. In each other. In that way. At all.”

“Exactly.”

They sat in silence as he smoked, Lacey occasionally sharing an observation about the house, the room, the furnishings. At last Lachlan handed the cigarette back to her and climbed out of bed, making his way over to the bathroom without a word.

The light in the small room switched on, and Lacey watched through the door as he tossed the condom out. He positioned himself at the toilet, and she brought the cigarette up to her lips– eyes fixed idly on his backside while he urinated.

“And it's like… it was _okay,_ right?” she asked once he'd flushed.

“Aye.”

She waited for him to finish washing his hands before adding, “I mean, I've had _way_ bet–”

“It was average.” he cut in, shutting off the light and heading back to bed. “Definitely average.”

“Yeah.”

“So… now we know.” he said.

Lacey handed the cigarette back to him as he settled back under the covers. “Sex with each other, it's… _eh...”_

“S’not like it was anything we hadn’t already done before, ye know?” he reasoned, taking another long drag.

 _“Exactly,”_ she agreed.

“Because we covered just about everything. Back when we were–”

“We did.” Lacey nodded. “Yeah, we definitely did.”

“I mean, we were together for what? Like… three months?”

“I– couldn't even say.”

“Aye. Three days? Three weeks?” he scoffed.

“Who even– who cares.” Lacey said, tossing her hand up limply in the air. He offered her the cigarette again, and she took it.

“I don't.” Lachlan said, finally rolling away from her. “Anyway, I got an early morning tomorrow, so… I'm just gonna go to sleep, and not think about it.”

“Right. Because it's not a big deal,” Lacey said, smoking what was left of the cigarette like it was the last smoke on Earth. “...We're both just under a lot of stress,” she said.

“Hm. Tons.”

“And sometimes you just… gotta release some stress.”

Lacey reached over him for the ashtray, and he rolled back over.

“Alright, I'll be perfectly honest–” he said, pausing to take the cigarette and snuff it out for her. “I hadn’t had a shag in two years.”

Lacey snorted, and the sound slowly built into full laughter. _“Two years?”_

“Well it's not as though there are a lot of options out here!” he said, and started laughing too. “Been living like a bloody monk!”

Lacey thought about how sparse the area looked on the drive over. There'd been what looked like a dive bar a few miles up the road, but little else.

“Okay…” she drawled, smiling at him with a sidelong look. “So who was your last shag?”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Come on! It'll be a fun game!” she said, nudging his arm. “My last fuck… was this guy who picked me up at Lure last week,” she snickered. “Gave me a ride in his dad's Ducati!”

Lachlan rolled his eyes.

“He ordered me a strawberry daiquiri and told me I looked lonely. I asked him what he did for a living and he was like, _'uh... I dunno… like my parents keep nagging me to go to college but… I think I wanna travel first? And maybe try a start-up?’”_

“Christ, I’m sorry–” he laughed. “A _strawberry daiquiri,_ you said? And ye _still_ shagged him?”

“He was really sweet and had money,” she shrugged. “Don't judge.”

“Was he at least–?”

“No,” Lacey shook her head and laughed. “Not at all. I wound up getting bored and faking it, _but–”_

“Oh! Faked it for _him,_ did you?” he teased.

“Hey– you were a 35 year-old man in your sexual prime when we met!” Lacey laughed. “This was a 24 year-old _probably_ virgin trying his best! I gave him a little confidence boost!”

 _“False_ confidence,” Lachlan retorted.

Lacey narrowed her eyes at him. “Anyway... I got to drive his Ducati for a few blocks.”

Lachlan hiked his brows and shrugged.

“So your turn. Who was the last person you slept with?”

“I dunno. Just some… bird from the market.”

Lacey grinned.

“...What?”

“You banged one those bougie bitches?”

“Yes,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I did.”

“How'd that happen? She ask if there were any more eggplants in the back of the truck you could show her?”

“Back of her BMW, actually. Asked for some _assistance_ carrying her bags to her car.”

“Oh my God.”

“Real nice tits,” he offered.

Lacey scoffed. “Since when are _you_ a tits man?”

“I’m not. But I still know a nice pair when I _see_ one,” he shrugged. “...Or when I got my face buried-”

“Okay. Okay!” Lacey giggled. “So– was it just the one time, or was this like… a _thing?_ Like, _‘honey I'm gonna go grocery shopping this weekend!’”_

“God, no!” her laughed. “One and done,” he said. _“One and done._ Next time she came around looking for _help with her bags,_ I said: 'oh, right, right... You know, perhaps my good man Julian here can give ye a hand wi’that.’”

Lacey snorted.

“She did _not_ care for that one bit, I tell you. Been carrying her bags just fine herself ever since.”

“Okay, but... Come on. Why would you pass that up?”

Lachlan shrugged. “You know me. I'm a leg man.”

“Okay– so what are your rankings, then? Legs, ass, and tits.”

A lopsided grin tugged at his lips.

“Come on…”

“No, you’ve got it,” he nodded. “Legs, arse, and tits– in that order.”

“No way!” Lacey sat up and rolled to her side to look at him better. “Tits _last!?”_

“Tits last.”

“But everybody _loves_ tits!” she argued, sputtering on a laugh. “They’re _soft…_ and _round…_ and _jiggly…”_

“A nice arse is soft and round and jiggly too,” he shrugged. “Tits? A little _too_ soft. But an arse? You can really _grab onto_ an arse,” he explained, demonstrating a firm squeeze with his hand.

“Well, I guess I can’t complain,” Lacey said, lying back down. “The only way _I’d_ get any real cleavage is if I wore one of those like… old timey corsets that push ‘em up to my chin.”

“Never bothered me,” he shrugged. “S’long as they jiggle _just a wee bit_ in the sack? Give me something to look at? You’re fine.”

Lacey scoffed and shook her head.

“What?”

“Nothing. We’re just… both going to hell,” she snickered, nestling against her pillow.

He huffed a little laugh and followed suit, turning his back to hers and getting comfortable.

“Goodnight, Lace.”

“Night, Lachy.”


	6. Chapter 5

It had been a taxing day of doing nothing.

Lachlan had woken her up at the asscrack of dawn when he rose to get ready for work– but with the help of some kind of miracle, Lacey had been able to fall back asleep and wake again at her usual eleven thirty or so.

There wasn't any milk in the fridge, or much of anything else for that matter, so breakfast had been a few fistfuls of knock-off Cheerios and a glass of water.

The bastard didn't have cable either, so she'd booted up his computer– only she couldn't guess his password, which left her with the options of going for a walk outside, or sticking her nose in his record collection.

She'd expected to find _Bank Street Waltz_ on display somewhere, his one crowning achievement on the wall to remind him of the old glory days. Instead, it had been hiding behind the shelf, collecting dust.

Lacey threw it on the turntable first and got comfortable on the couch, following along with the lyric sheet tucked inside the sleeve .

 _J. MacAldonich,_ the overwhelming majority of the songwriting credits read.  
_J. MacAldonich._  
_J. MacAldonich, R. MacCann, W. Carlisle._  
_J. MacAldonich., L. MacAldonich._  
_J. MacAldonich, R. MacCann._  
_J. MacAldonich, L. MacAldonich._  
_R. MacCann, L. MacAldonich._  
_J. MacAldonich._  
_J. MacAldonich._  
_W. Carlisle, J. MacAldonich, L. MacAldonich._

Lacey sighed and flipped the LP over, looking at all their faces. Her eyes jumped from one to the next, lingering for a moment on Jed’s before ultimately settling on the one that was most familiar to her.

“God, what a baby…” she thought out loud, rubbing her finger over Lachlan’s likeness. He’d have been about twenty-four when the photo was taken, and it was strange to think she’d been the same age when they met. Strange to imagine what it must have been like to be touring across continents, doing interviews, getting screwed by record companies and exposed to all the crazy that came with it all.

She’d always enjoyed his dry wit in those interviews. And his smile.

It had dimmed after Jed died, of course. Her own smiles had faded after mom passed too, and even moreso when her dad started to change.

But in the few months that they’d spent together, there were a handful of times when Lacey could have sworn she’d caught Lachlan with one of those full, brilliant smiles on his face again. When she’d caught _herself_ with one.

That was the worst part of all of it, Lacey thought. Growing up, you were always led to believe that love was all you needed. That love was enough. But it wasn’t. Not for mom’s cancer. Not for dad’s depression that followed. Not for the pain Lachlan numbed himself to every night.

So what was the point?

It wasn’t her responsibility to fix them, after all. Her job was to be strong. To not let it bring her down.

And so that’s what she did. Got out before it was too late.

Soon Lacey was blinking her eyes open at the sound of the front door being unlocked. The front door creaked open and Lachlan shuffled inside, the back of his shirt covered in sweat as he paused to kick his boots off.

“Hey.” Lacey said after he'd been silent too long.

“Hey,” he mumbled back, turning around and carding a hand through his hair, pulling it out of his face.

Lacey swallowed, snapping her eyes back up to his face once she caught them wandering. “Rough day?” she asked.

“Not so bad,” he shrugged, crossing the den and into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. He emptied it in no time at all, throat bobbing with each gulp he took.

“Well, you look gross.” she said at last.

He set the glass down on the counter and let out a refreshed sigh, wiping his mouth with back of his arm. “Thanks.”

“Smell like shit, too.”

He shot her a look. “And just what have _you_ accomplished today? Sweetheart?”

Lacey grinned and rolled into her belly to face him better. “I’ll have you know that I have been holding up my end of the deal by doing absolutely fucking nothing but waiting for my _handsome husband_ to return home.” she said. _“...Honey bunny.”_

He scoffed and shook his head.

“Actually,” Lacey said, rolling back over and reaching for her phone, unplugging it from where it had been charging. “I've been reading up on this immigration shit.”

“Didn't hurt yourself, I hope.”

“Hey–” Lacey leveled him with a look. “I might be a lazy, selfish bitch, but I'm not like… stupid.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Did all this on my _phone,_ by the way– you need to give me the fucking password for the computer and the WiFi and shit.”

“It's on a sticky note under the keyboard.”

Lacey scoffed. “That's a _terrible_ hiding place.”

He shrugged. _“You_ couldnae find it.”

“That's only because I expected a certain level of common sense from a grown-ass man.”

He stepped over, an amused little smirk on his face as he looked over her. “Is that right?”

Lacey smiled back up at him. “Guess I need to lower my expectations again, huh?”

He scoffed and stepped away, beginning to idly wander around the room.

“Anyway,” she continued, pulling up her notes, “it sounds like it's not enough to prove you can't leave me here. We need to also convince them that I can't just go back with you. Like… that _me_ moving to Scotland would cause us extreme hardship _too?”_

“Hm.”

“Usually people say that like, they need the kinda medical care that's only available in the states or some shit like that. Or–”

“You been listening to this record?” Lachlan interrupted, nudging one of sleeves on the floor with his foot.

Lacey didn't have to look to know which one. “Yeah.”

 _“Don't.”_ he said, and spun on his heels to leave to the room.

Lacey looked over her shoulder to the bedroom where he had gone, and rolled her eyes. She soon heard the sound of the shower running through the walls, and sat up.

“Don't forget we're picking up my car today!” she hollered after him.

“I didn’t forget!” he hollered back. He poked his head out from behind the door– enough of a bare shoulder peeking out for Lacey to see he was shirtless. “Or did you _want_ to spend the rest of your day in the car with my B.O.?”

She gave him an exasperated look and waved him off. “Whatever.”

Lacey waited until she was certain he was in the shower before climbing off the couch. She stared down at the record sleeve on the floor, at the faces looking back at her again.

 _“You listening to this record?”_ she mocked him, rolling her eyes as she swiped it off the floor. _“...Don’t.”_

What was his problem anyway?

It was overplayed? The only thing he did that the world cared about?

 _Boo-fucking-hoo,_ she thought.

It made him think of his dead brother?

Wasn’t that supposed to be a good thing? Bring back fond memories or whatever?

She still hung onto her mother’s necklace. Kept a few photos of her in a shoebox to look at when she missed her. She might not like thinking about her _father_ , but that was a whole other story– that old bastard was still alive.

 _“Moody fuck,”_ Lacey muttered, and proceeded to remove the record itself from the turntable. She handled it delicately nonetheless. He might hate it, but it still meant the world to her. The little joys each riff, each drum beat, and each hook gave her every time she listened had gotten her through high school, after all.

She slid the record into the sleeve, and with a sigh, tucked it back behind the shelf where she’d found it.

Lachlan returned from his shower a few short minutes later, donning a clean shirt and jeans, hair still damp and clinging to his neck.

“Let’s go,” he said without any ceremony, already halfway to the door.

Lacey blinked owlishly. “O-okay…” she said, scrambling for her shoes.

They hopped into his truck, which she was an inch or two away from needed a step stool to climb into, without a word. The air conditioning didn’t work, she soon found out– and the engine ran so loudly that she quickly gave up on listening to the radio. The tools he’d thrown in the tailgate before they left rattled noisily, but otherwise she and Lachlan rode in silence.

Lacey’s eyes occasionally strayed from the road in favor of Lachlan’s face. He'd been staring out the passenger window, brooding, since they left, and she couldn’t help feeling like she’d done something wrong– but she knew that was ridiculous. _He_ was the one with the attitude.

She supposed she’d have a cloudy attitude too though, if she was getting deported.

“...Lachy?” Her voice sounded so small against all the cabin noise, and she doubted he could even hear her.

“What?” he mumbled, his hand balled up into a fist at his chin.

“Look. I'm… sorry I… used the J word the other day.”

“It's fine,” he sighed. “Us Scots got thicker skin than that, ken?”

“Yeah, well. You know,” she shrugged, returning her eyes to the road. Her grip on the steering wheel loosened a bit, and Lacey swept her eyes over the dashboard again. The speedometer. The fuel gauge. The 150,000 miles on his truck.

“I'm… sorry I called Australia a shitehole,” Lachlan said.

“Nah,” Lacey shrugged, a smile fighting its way across her face. “It's okay. You can say it.”

He scoffed, and she could see him beginning to smile too. “Well then, I take it back. It _is_ a shitehole.”

In the corner of her eye, she could see he was watching her, and it made Lacey’s face feel warm. She bit her cheek and watched as another mile ticked onto the odometer.

“What?” he finally asked.

“You say _ken,”_ she said– and she could imagine the way he was probably furrowing his brows at her. _“_ We say _barbie._ ...Ken and Barbie,” she sputtered around a giggle.

He shook his head, and the corner of his mouth tugged up into a crooked smirk. “You're a fuckin’ nutter.”

Her grin spread widely, and she sank her teeth into her lip again. “...I know,” she said. “That's why you married me, remember?”

Lachlan's smile faltered. “Aye. It was.”

A tightness gripped her throat then, and Lacey flexed her sweaty fingers around the wheel again. She wanted to say something, to keep the light conversation going, but didn’t know what.

The moment was stolen from her when they rode over a pothole. The truck shook violently, sending the toolbox rattling in the trunk, and Lachlan cleared his throat in the silence that followed, returning his gaze out the window.

It wasn’t until they reached their exit that Lachlan broke the silence, pointing out which turns to make and which lanes to get into. Lacey insisted she knew perfectly well where they were, while he insisted that if they went her way at this hour they'd hit traffic.

They did– but he least had the mind not to say he told her so.

Her car– her baby– sat alone right where they'd left it, and the mere sight of the stupid thing brought her an amount relief that, all things considered, really wasn't warranted. She hopped out of the truck and circled around it, looking for any signs of mistreatment. She frowned at a scratch on the front bumper, but she only had herself to blame for that.

Something was tucked under one of the wiper blades, and caught her eye next. It was a pastel yellow, which she didn't like the looks of.

“What the…” Lacey leaned over the hood to investigate, “you better not be another fucking ticket,” she grumbled, swiping it up.

The absence of the sheriff's office letterhead allayed the worst of her fears. In fact, it was a torn sheet from a legal pad, with unfamiliar handwriting scrawled across it.

_Been looking for one of these in good shape. Interested in selling? - Chris 213-555-0539_

Lacey scoffed and crumpled the note up.

“There a problem?” Lachlan asked.

“No,” she said, and tossed it aside.

“Outstanding,” he mumbled to himself, opening up the tailgate and setting to work. The heavy tow bar clanged onto the asphalt when he set it down, and he sat beside it with his tools, scooting up to the front bumper.

Lacey knew her job was to be waiting at the ready to hand him what he needed, or to make sure he didn't drop the tow bar on himself and break something. But instead she was staring at the way his jeans were sliding down. The way his shirt was clinging to his glistening skin.

“Hold this, will ye?”

This was stupid. Last night was supposed to get it all out of her system, but of course here he was now– looking all sexy, sweaty, and delicious.

She'd said that the sex last night had been _eh,_ but that was a lie. Not that it had been _amazing_ , either– but it was just… nice. Familiar. Cozy. Like a night in, sprawled out on the couch in your underwear with some Kung Pao chicken and reality TV.

_“Lace.”_

She shook her head and blinked. “Huh? What?”

Lachlan sighed. “Will ye stop staring at your phone and help me here?”

Lacey rushed to hold the tow bar in place while he measured out where to drill the holes for the brackets. “I wasn't looking at your– phone.” she muttered.

He picked up the drill with his free hand. Sparks showered onto the asphalt as he started drilling into the chassis, and Lacey clenched her eyes shut– because this was definitely the kind of thing you were supposed to wear safety goggles for, wasn't it?

The high pitched whirring stopped after a second or two though, and she opened her eyes, half expecting to see the car destroyed. After all, she’d hardly been able to watch while he was taking the front bumper off earlier. Instead, she just just saw two neat holes, and Lachlan reaching for the tools he needed for the next step– whatever that was.

“Ye can leave it for now,” he said without looking at her, and she heaved a relieved sigh as she lowered the heavy bar to the ground. He pat the ground around him, looking for something, and muttered under his breath.

“That it?” Lacey asked, nudging a bolt on the ground behind him with her foot.

He twisted around to see. “...Aye,” he said, plucking it off the ground and looking up at her. The sun was beginning to set behind her, and Lacey couldn't tell if he was actually smiling at her, or just squinting. “Thanks.”

“You know me,” she shrugged. “I'm your Huckleberry. That's just my game.”

He scoffed and returned to the work of installing the brackets. He'd definitely lost some weight since the last time she saw him– bordering on gaunt– but his hands worked with all the same dexterity she remembered from afternoons spent watching _120 Minutes_ on MTV, her DVD copy of _Live at Leeds,_ and the night they’d met.

“Thanks for uh… doing this,” Lacey mumbled.

“Oh,” he sighed, grunting as he tightened one of the bolts. “Least I can do, right?”

She scoffed. She had plenty of experience with the _least_ people could do. _The least_ was her own modus operandi. Tagging along on a three hour drive and helping someone tow a car that, by all counts, belonged in a junkyard did not qualify. “It's... really not, actually. I appreciate it.”

He waved her off with a muffled sound and kept working, and Lacey watched with her hands in hips, her head tilting to the side.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Such as?”

“What's up with like… I don't know, just– _you._ Working on a _farm?”_

Lachlan scoffed, tossing his hair out of his face. “I ah… grew up on a farm in Kilmarnock, actually.”

She pursed her lips. “At risk of sounding like a dumbass–”

“South of Glasgae.”

Lacey clicked her tongue. _“Right,”_ she said. “You um… You never told me that.”

The hand that had been busy tightening one of the bolts stopped. “Well, we didn't exactly do a lot of getting to know each other back then, now did we?” he said, and continued working again.

She shifted on her feet and rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, at a loss for what to say. Did he remember those few months differently than she did? Sure, they hadn’t exactly shared their life stories with each other, but Lacey still felt that they had _bonded._ In _some_ way that mattered.

Perhaps she was just being delusional again.

“My dad's a florist,” she said. “I worked in his shop before I came here. That’s kinda, almost, _sort of_ like farming, huh?”

He laughed and shook his head.

“You _grew_ plants, we– _bought and arranged_ plants…” she reached.

His face twisted into a doubtful grimace that made her smile. “Sure. I'll let you have it,” he chuckled.

“Just saying!” she smiled. “You and me, Lachy– might have more in common than you think.”

“For _your_ sake?” Lachlan pulled himself up to his feet, resting his hands on his hips and admiring his handiwork for a moment. “I hope not.”


	7. Chapter 6

They’d fallen into something of a rhythm over the course of the week. Lacey would try not to die of boredom during the day, then Lachlan would come home at around four and hop in the shower before they threw a meal together. Or rather,  _ he _ threw a meal together while she watched and repeatedly asked if it was ready yet.

What remained of the evening was taken up conversation Lacey enjoyed more than she cared to admit, and on Wednesday, she learned that he also did a podcast about dead rock stars. She’d managed to only laugh at how morbid the idea was for about five minutes before inviting herself to be his co-host. The irony of sharing a bottle whisky while they lamented the fate of Rory Gallagher’s liver hadn’t been lost on them– but it wasn’t as though either of them were also on a prescription sedative, so it was fine.

Lachlan was sitting at the computer, squinting at some article with no pictures when Lacey got out of the shower. A seal of the United States department of  _ whatever-the-fuck _ at the top of the screen was all she needed to see as she crossed the living room for her spot on the couch.

She settled in with the book she'd dug out of the trunk of the car, the pages spotted with water and oil stains, and speckled with dust and dirt.

It wasn’t until an hour or two later that he’d gotten up for a drink.

“Temperature in here feel alright to you?”

Lacey laid her hands over the thin, yellowed pages spread across her lap. Looking up, she found Lachlan leaning against the doorway to the kitchen.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “Just…” he trailed off and wrapped an arm around himself. “What ah… what are you reading?”

“Repair manual,” she said.

He took a long sip from his whisky glass. “Well that sounds  _ engaging,” _ he said dryly. “Repair manual for what?”

“The IROC,” she shrugged.

He tilted his head at her, narrowing his eyes. “Where the hell did you get that?”

Lacey scoffed. “It’s been sitting in the trunk of the car for like, ten years.”

“...Huh.”

“First time actually  _ reading _ it, but… I have an abundance of free time these days, so.”

He hiked his brows. “That’s… good?”

Lacey clicked her tongue and sighed, slouching her shoulders. “You know I spent  _ four hundred bucks _ to have the carburetor cleaned and rebuilt, and I  _ still  _ had problems?”

“Might have mentioned it when we together. Once or twice,” he winked.

She chuckled and shook her head. She hadn’t let  _ anyone _ hear the end of it, least of all him.

“But did you  _ also  _ know that I spent seventy-five on a new starter? And when  _ that _ didn’t work, I dropped like, six-hundred on a  _ new _ carburetor?”

He slid his hand into the pocket of his jeans. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but it sounds like the problem wasn’t your carburetor,” he grimaced.

Lacey sighed. “Yeah, I realize that now,” she muttered, turning another page. “I was Googling today, and some people say it could be a bad battery connection, but… I dunno,” she shrugged. “I feel like if that were the case, I’d have a slew of other problems. Only other thing that comes up is the fuel lines.”

She began to read, but the seat cushion beside her sank under Lachlan’s weight as he sat down, disrupting her focus. “What about them?”

“Vapor lock. The fuel in the lines boils and the air pockets make it not wanna start? Fix would be to reroute the lines away from the heat source, or better insulate them.”

“Doesn’t start at  _ all _ now?” he asked. “I thought it just stalled.”

Lacey looked up from the diagram she’d been studying and smiled. “My car has all  _ kinds _ of problems, thank you very much.”

“Yes, right. Like the leaking roof,” he said, wiggling his brows and taking another swig of his drink.

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes. “Only fix for that is to just seal the T tops off entirely.”

He shrugged. “Ye never even used them.”

“Not  _ yet,”  _ Lacey said. “But I might. Eventually… when it’s a clear, sunny day, and I wanna feel the wind in my hair? Cruise down the strip and pick up some babes?”

He shot her an incredulous look, arching a brow. “We live in  _ California, _ Lace _.  _ How many clear, sunny days do ye need?”

She bit her cheek, refusing to concede the point.

He scoffed and stared back at her with a slight smile. His tongue poked out to wet his lips, and Lacey’s eyes flicked down to them. She could feel the itch to stretch over and kiss him, and when he tilted his head at her, she knew he was feeling it too.

She cleared her throat. “Anyway, the stalling can be caused by a plugged fuel line too,” she blurted, returning to the diagram.

“O-oh.” He coughed and shifted away from her, putting some tiny amount of distance between them.

“Yeah. Sort of a... two birds, one stone situation.”

She snuck a look at him from the corner of her eyes, catching him nodding dumbly.

“Well that’s… good,” he said. “That ye… have something to go off of.”

“Yeah.” she said, turning the page in some attempt to look disinterested in whatever else he might have to say.

“So… you think you’ll try fixing it yourself?” he asked, nodding toward the manual in her lap. “Or–”

“I don’t know,” Lacey sighed. “I don’t– I really don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted.

Lachlan smiled. “Could’ve fooled me.”

She turned back to the other page and frowned. “It’s one thing to understand it all when I’m looking at a diagram like this. But once I’m actually looking under the hood? I dunno. It all just looks like a big ol’ mess to me.”

“Well–” he set a hand on her knee, “you’re smart. I think you’ll figure it out.”

Lacey eyed him skeptically. “Am I?” she asked. “Because when my dad and I first fixed her up, it was like… he did all the work, you know? I just watched and nodded along.”

Lachlan scoffed. “That’s all any of us do when our da tries to teach us something.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah. And get yelled at for not holding the flashlight at the right angle.”

The hand on her knee started to give her a little squeeze before Lachlan seemed to catch himself and traded it for a pat instead. “What have ye got to lose at this point, eh?”

Lacey exhaled slowly. “Not a damned thing.”

He raised his glass, pausing to study it a moment before knocking back what was left and holding it upside down. “Welp. That’s bedtime for me,” he said, and set the heavy tumbler onto the end table. “Night, Lace.”

Lacey watched as he pulled himself up and dragged himself to the bedroom. He shut the door behind him, and her eyes snapped back to the empty glass.

“Yeah,” she whispered to herself. “Night, Lachy.”


	8. Chapter 7

After a week, Lacey was finding it impossible to fall back asleep after Lachlan’s 4AM alarm. So when Lachlan was finished getting dressed and ready to walk out the door Saturday morning, so was she.

He gave her a confounded once-over before closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I’m sorry– Are you  _ going  _ somewhere?” he asked.

“Living so far from all the distractions of urban life has made me realize I’ve never really appreciated the sunrise,” she answered dryly.

Lachlan furrowed his brows in confusion.

Lacey rolled her eyes. “I’ve haven’t left this house since we picked up the car on  _ Monday, _ Lachy.”

He pouted his lips for a moment and gave a slow nod. “Right. You… you wannae come for a ride?” he asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I think that golden retriever we saw on the drive up here had the right idea.”

That got a smile out of him. He opened the door and gestured at the truck idling outside. “Hop on in, then.”

It was a short, bumpy ride to the farm, and Lacey quickly decided there was no way she was going straight back to the house once he and Julian left for the market.

She watched as the two of them got to work loading the pickup, and a few minutes later, when Lachlan was summoned away by a voice in the distance, Lacey swept in.

Whether Julian didn’t notice her or was simply ignoring her, she couldn’t tell– so she cleared her throat.

It had the desired effect, and he stopped to look at her.

“Where you goin’, kid?” she asked.

Julian finished loading another create onto the truck and turned around. “It's Saturday. It's a market day.”

Lacey sighed. “Yeah, but… Don't you have like, hobbies or something?”

“Yeah.”

She raised a brow skeptically. “You sure about that?”

Julian narrowed his eyes at her and moved on to the next crate.

“Look. I'm gonna let you in on a little secret,” Lacey said.

Julian continued loading the truck, and oh yeah. He was  _ definitely  _ ignoring her.

“I… don't have any hobbies,” she said. “At least, I thought I did. Turns out, I can only listen to Lachy's record collection so many times before I wanna blow my brains out.”

That got a scoff out of him.

“So what I'm getting at, kid, is maybe we could help each other out. I'll help you load this truck,   _ I'll _ drive old MacDonald down to LA and help him man the booth, and  _ you… _ you can stay back and do whatever it is you apparently do for fun around here. Tip cows or whatever.”

He hefted another crate onto the truck and turned around. “You want to  _ work?” _

_ “Wild, _ I know.” Lacey said. “But like I said: I'm bored as all hell.”

He twisted his lips in thought for a moment. “... You can come, I guess. But I can't just… not go.”

_ “Why not?” _ Lacey squawked. “You know you  _ want _ to!”

“Doing the market’s a big responsibility,” he shrugged. “You don't have the exp–”

“Oh,  _ please.” _ Lacey dismissed. “You put the vegetables  _ on _ the truck, you take the vegetables  _ off _ the truck. Someone gives me a  _ five _ and I hand them some fucking  _ carrots. _ I’ve been a cashier before.”

Julian smiled and looked back at the barn, where the rest of the staff were getting ready.

“Come on, kid. Live a little!” Lacey urged. “Who knows, maybe next week I'll teach you how to talk to hot girls.”

“...No thanks,” he said. “I can talk to girls just fine.”

She gave him a sidelong look.  _ “Can _ you?”

“I've got a girlfriend, you know.” Julian said. “I'm not some charity case for you to work on so you can feel better about yourself. Either you ride with both of us or you don't come at all.”

“Eh,” Lacey dismissed with the wave of her hand. As if she wanted endure another three hour drive squished in the middle of the pickup, only to have some teenager hanging around, throwing her off her game while she bat her lashes at... all the hot farmer's market guys who  _ weren't _ Lachlan.

“...Fine,” she mumbled.

Julian hefted the next box onto the truck and turned around. “You going to help load the truck or what?”

Lacey bent down and scooped up the nearest crate. “You know what, kid?” she grunted, hoisting the deceptively heavy box onto the truck. “You're alright.”

He shifted on his feet, turning around to get a better look at her. “I have a name too, by the way–  _ lady.” _

Lacey put her hands on her hips and huffed, hoping she looked more exasperated than exhausted. “Sorry. Julian, is it?”

“Yeah,” he said, and turned back to the truck, hauling another crate.

“Julian–” she pointed a finger at him and winked. “Got it,” 

“These boxes aren't gonna load themselves…” he hummed.

Lacey threw her head back and sighed. “You and your  _ boxes, _ ” she groaned. “It's not like they're  _ going _ anywhere.”

“Yeah, that's the problem,” he laughed. “They need to  _ go _ on the truck.”

She sighed and picked up the next box. “Okay, okay…”

After a second, third, and fourth, Lacey had become too winded for chit chat. And too distracted.

Lachlan had come out of one of the equipment sheds with a group of some other workers, the gaggle of them boisterous with laughter.

_ God,  _ he was pretty when he laughed.

He gave one of the others a finishing pat on the back, and Lacey watched as he began pointing and directing them all about. He'd mentioned he was  _ some _ kind of manager the other day, and she'd laughed at the thought of anyone putting Lachy in charge of  _ anything– _ but now...

She licked her lips, the remaining vegetable crates forgotten.

“You've known him a long time?” Julian asked, looking over his shoulder in Lachlan's direction.

Lacey shook her focus off of him. “Eh… kind of.” she said, rushing to grab another box. “I gave him head back– I mean… we  _ met _ back when he was still kind of a big deal.”

Julian snorted.  _ “He _ was a big deal?”

“He played guitar in a big deal band,” she shrugged, grunting as she loaded the box into the bed of the truck.

“He's never mentioned it,” he said. “Or you. But you guys really  _ are  _ married?”

Lacey sighed. “It was like one of those ‘what happens in Vegas’ type deals.” she said. “We were drunk and high and stupid, and getting married somehow seemed like a genius idea at the time. Lasted about six months before we sobered up long enough to realize what a horrible idea it was. Never bothered to get it annulled.”

“Huh.”

“I don't know,” she continued. “He was in a bad place back then because of his brother, his career. I wasn't prepared to handle it... I was just like,  _ ‘Woo! I married a rockstar!’”  _ Lacey said, half-heartedly pumping a fist in the air. “We were doomed for failure, really.”

Julian looked back to where Lachlan stood in the distance, and Lacey's gaze followed through the corners of her eyes. Lachlan was smiling and laughing again, and she snapped her eyes away once she noticed the way her breath had caught in her throat at the sight of him.

“...You think he's better now?” Julian asked.

_ “Shit no,” _ Lacey laughed, turning away to hide her burning cheeks. “I mean, sure, he used to be hungover  _ twenty-four seven _ – so in that regard, yes. But I don't believe for one second that he's actually dealt with any of his shit. Man's a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off,” she muttered.

Julian stilled, offering nothing more than a thoughtful  _ hm _ before busying himself with another crate.

  
  
  


*****

  
  


Tomatoes were a big seller, apparently.

Lacey had wondered how many crates they could possibly need of the damned things while loading the truck– but less than halfway through the day she was cracking open box number three.

“You got it?” Lachlan asked.

Lacey rolled her eyes, adjusting her grip on the crate on the bed of truck. She could hardly lift it, but while she may have had experience working a cash register, she had to admit that Lachy actually had a way with the customers that she clearly did not.

He was happily chatting them up, earning their smiles and laughter. Convincing them to try the parsnips or the Swiss chard. Offering tips on how best to prepare their radishes.

The best response Lacey could muster when someone has asked how their eggplants were was to shrug and say, “Hey man, I don't eat the shit, I just sell it.”

Lachlan had stepped in before the customer could walk away– apologizing on her behalf, cracking a joke about how hard it was to find good help these days, and then selling them on three of the damned things, another vine of fucking tomatoes, and some fresh thyme to boot.

And so Lacey had relegated herself to handling the cash and restocking the displays. Julian offered his help when he could, but more often than not, it went to another customer.

“Lace?”

She took a deep breath and hoisted the crate up off the bed of the truck, praying her arms wouldn't give out before she could move it to the table. “Yeah, I got it–”

_ “Hey!”  _ Lachlan called out. “Beau! How've you been?”

Lacey did a double-take, nearly dropping the crate on her toes.

_ Cute, smiley, blonde Beau in her little shorts. _

No wonder he had the hots for her.

Lacey didn't  _ mean _ to watch and eavesdrop while they exchanged pleasantries, but she was a nosy bitch, and on second thought, she _ totally _ meant to watch and eavesdrop.

“Actually, my boyfriend's here today,” Beau said, and Lacey fought back a snort at the look on Lachlan's face. “He usually works late on Fridays, but I managed to drag him out of bed this morning.”

A bearded guy made his way over from the vinyl vendor, and this certainly explained how easily Beau had shrugged off the whole  _ married but separated _ thing last week, Lacey thought.

He draped an arm over Beau's shoulders, murmuring a _ , “hey babe,”  _ before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Beau made all the proper introductions, and Lacey had to cover her face to hide her derisive snort when she informed them that Paul was a DJ, and therefore “a musician, just like Lachlan!”

“How about you, man?” Paul asked. “What do you play?”

Lachlan folded his arms over his chest and leaned away, the corners of his mouth pinched. “Oh, I don't really do the music thing anymore…” he said.

“Lachlan used to play  _ guitar _ in a band,” Beau smiled, as though he were a child who was just too shy to talk to strangers. It still managed to come off as cute rather than patronizing though– because  _ Beau. _

“Yeah?” Paul asked. “What band?”

“Oh, it was nothing…” Lachlan dismissed, shaking his head. “You probably wouldn't...” he mumbled distractedly, pretending to recount the bills in the cash box. “I-it was a long time–”

“Don't be so modest, Lachy,” Lacey said, nudging him with her elbow. “Some of us are still clinging to the belief we have standards.”

He faked a smile, tilting his head at her with leering eyes.

“I listen to  _ all kinds _ of stuff, man,” Paul said. “ _ Try me.” _

Lachlan drew a long, resigned breath and sighed. “The Cranks.”

Paul's face lit up immediately. “Dude, no shit! _ You're _ Lachlan MacAldonich!?”

Lachlan pursed his lips. “That's... my name…” he grumbled, still recounting the money.

“This is– oh my God.” Paul threw a hand over his mouth and staggered backwards. His hand moved up to his hairline, exposing a wide smile, and he shook his head in disbelief. “Dude,  _ Bank Street Waltz _ is like, my favorite album of all time!”

“Aye, thanks,” Lachlan nodded, his voice and expression devoid of any enthusiasm.

“Look– dude,” Paul began digging into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a small flyer. “I'm doing this show tonight down at The Three Clubs,” he said, handing it across the table. “You should come, man. We're gonna be playing all your kinda stuff– Stone Roses, Black Grape, Oasis…”

He shook his head. “Oh, I don't think…”

“We can make you the guest of honor. I'll play the whole side one of  _ Bank Street Waltz!” _

Lachlan chuckled uncomfortably. “Oh, I've heard  _ quite _ enough of that album, thank you…”

“Come on, man. It's gonna be–”

_ “Honey…” _ Beau warned him. “He doesn't want to go.”

“Of course he's going! He's gonna come– right? You're gonna come–”

Lacey plucked the flyer from his hand and studied it for a moment. “We gotta busy day ahead of us,” she said. “ _ But maybe _ we can swing by for a drink or two when we're finished here. Right, Lachy?”

Paul's hand fluttered erratically about his face before pressing against his forehead. “Look, I-I hope you change your mind, man. It's gonna be a great night. It'd be awesome if you showed up, the other guys would be stoked.”

“Aye,” Lachlan nodded noncommittally. “Maybe.”

_“_ Well _, if_ you do, maybe we could make a thing of it,” Beau smiled, her eyes sweeping over him for a moment. “You guys could come to our place and join us for one of my elaborate dinners before we head out…” she added to tempt him.

“Oh, yeah! That'd be amazing, man,” Paul jumped in, and  _ God, _ Lacey thought.

Were they looking for a threesome or something?

Swingers, maybe?

“Look, I hate to–” Paul hesitated, shifting on his feet. “You don't suppose…” He slid his phone out of his pocket, almost dropping it in excitement. “C-could I get a picture with you, man?”

Lachlan looked down at the cash box and scoffed.

“I mean, if you don't mind, I just–” 

“Sure,” he shrugged and picked his head up. “Sure, why not?”

“Oh my God.” Paul clapped his hands together and looked up to the sky as if in prayer. “Thank you so much, dude,” he said, handing his phone to Beau and coming around the table. 

“Oh, think nothing of it, my friend,” Lachlan said, draping an arm over his shoulder.

Without a thought, Lacey took position beside him, smiling for the camera the same way she always used to. They way she had whenever fans would recognize him in a dimly lit club, when a drunken camaraderie had already been forged between everyone in a ten-foot radius of their table, and for a brief moment, she could feel cool and special and interesting.

There was no glamorous flash this time though, and in what felt like too soon, they were untangling their arms and exchanging goodbyes.

Beau and Paul disappeared across the market, and Lacey looked down at the flyer with a sigh.

Sure, she'd gone out little more than a week ago, but going out by herself paled in comparison to going out with someone.

Someone who could keep up with her.

Someone who was out to have as much fun as she was.

Lacey watched Lachlan from the corner of her eye as he finished helping the next customer, accepting their cash and tucking it into the lock box.

She looked back to the flyer, rubbing the curled up corner with her finger. “Okay, so… Paul being a complete and utter tool aside: we’re going, right?”

Lachlan shot her an incredulous look. “Don't think so.”

Lacey pouted.

He shook his head. “I don't do anythin’ like that anymore.”

She darted her eyes left and right. “...Anything like  _ what?” _

Lachlan shrugged. “Anythin’ interesting.”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you mean, ‘interesting’? It's a few drinks at a bar, Lachy. A bar that actually has like, hot girls in it, unlike that dive you showed me by the farm that probably has the same five old guys in it every night.”

He looked away and sighed. “I do my drinking alone these days, Lace.”

“Oh, come on!” she whined, catching herself before she could stomp her feet like a child. “Just this once! For old times’ sake!”

He stepped past her, digging through a crate of carrots. “...I'll think about it.”


	9. Chapter 8

Lacey woke to the feeling of Lachlan moving beside her. She was sinking into the the space between him and the back of the couch, falling deeper as she pulled away from her. She groaned in protest, her limbs still clinging to him, but did little to resist when he shook her off.

It was so much colder without the warmth of his body pressed against hers, and it dawned on her then, where she was. Not the lumpy old couch at Lachy's place, but the nicer, firmer couch at Beau's.

Lacey could remember bits and pieces of the night before: meeting here for dinner, going to the club, the music. Paul hadn't been exaggerating when he said it would be exactly their kind of scene. But then there was also dancing with Lachlan's body pressed up behind hers, and finding a corner to make out with him in.

Her face burned hot and her heart began to pound. She pat a hand over her hips, relaxing when she found her underwear was still on.

Lacey groaned. Her head hurt, and she didn't want to open her eyes– not even for hushed voices down the hall.

Sleepy footsteps dragged into the kitchen, and Lacey scowled at the commotion that followed. Cabinets opening and slamming shut. The rattling of a pill bottle and the running of the faucet. Beau and Lachlan were whispering about something she couldn't make out, and soon the lazy footsteps returned down the hall.

Lacey rubbed at her tired eyes, not sure if she wanted to open them to the morning light just yet.

“Lachy?” she called out, ignoring the pain in her head. “What are you…”

She could hear his footsteps approach across the wood floors. “Catherine texted me three hours ago,” he whispered, his voice close by.

She slowly blinked her eyes open. “Wh… what does she–”

He stood over her, tossing his head back as he swallowed some painkillers, which he chased with a glass of water. “Said I could meet her at Two Figs at twelve to talk. Gotta leave in ten if we're gonnae make it over there.”

“Oh,” she mumbled, dropping her face back into one of the throw pillows with a heavy sigh.

A thud on the end table roused her again. Lachlan had set his half-full glass down and was watching her expectantly.

“One or two?” he asked, rattling the bottle of Advil.

She sat up and winced as her head reeled. “Fuck,” she hissed. “...Two, two,” she said, holding her palm out impatiently.

Lacey swilled them down and polished off the glass of water. Closing her eyes, she pressed her palms into her eyes and moaned at the mild bit of relief it brought her. Lachlan was still standing there after she dropped her hands into her lap and blinked her eyes back into focus.

“...Wait,” she realized. “What do you mean, ‘ _ we’?” _

Lachlan cast his eyes downward and wet his lips. “Ye don't suppose you could…” he trailed off.

She rubbed a hand over her eyes and groaned. “Don't suppose I could  _ what?” _

He gave her a helpless look and jerked his head toward the front door..

“No.” Lacey shook her head. “Oh, no.”

He looked back up her, a pathetic look on his face.

“Why?” she whined.

“I dunno…” he fidgeted. “To make sure I don't fuck anything up, I suppose?”

Lacey blinked owlishly. “I'm sorry,  _ what? _ ” she laughed. “H-have we met?”

“...I'll pay for your mimosas.”

Lacey took a deep breath. Some hair of the dog actually sounded pretty tempting, compared to the alternative. She swung her legs off the side of the couch with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll get dressed,” she mumbled, immediately realizing she had nothing to change into. “Or… make myself presentable. Or whatever. You know what I mean.”

  
  


*****

  
  


Lacey hadn’t ever been to Two Figs before, but as she and Lachlan crossed the street from the bus stop, she could see it was the sort of place that had crisp white linen cloths on every table.

“This place looks fancy,” she said. “Do you think I'm underdressed? Because I don't need a repeat of that time we crashed Wendell's Grammys after party.”

Lachlan pulled the large, round, tortoiseshell sunglasses off his face and shot her a defeated look.

“Alright, fine!” she rolled her eyes. “But if people start looking at me funny, it'll be your fault.”

_ “My _ fault?!” Lachlan stopped walking and spun around. “I might not remember anything from last night, but I  _ do _ remember you whining all afternoon that  _ you _ wanted to go out.

“So? I should be speeding down Route 14 right now, chugging a Red Bull– not being roped into brunch with your ex, looking like something the cat dragged in,” Lacey argued, gesturing at her wrinkled dress.

Beau had been hospitable enough to offer them both a shower, but there hadn't been time for that. Instead, Lacey had to make do with a makeup remover wipe, a hairbrush, and the eyeliner and tube of lipstick she had in her bag.

Lachlan's eyes locked with hers for a moment and his lips parted. “You look... very nice,” he said– and his eyes drifted away, past her, as though something had caught his eye in the distance.

“Aw,  _ Lachy…” _ Lacey teased, preening before him. “You think I look nice?”

He scoffed. “For someone who did as many shots as I'm guessing you did last night? Aye. You look fuckin’ radiant.”

Lacey huffed.

“Now can we  _ go?  _ Please?” he gestured impatiently at the restaurant. 

Lacey looked over her shoulder, to see what he saw, but there was nothing there. “M’sorry,” she grumbled, falling back in step with him. “You know I ramble when I get nervous.”

He scoffed and put this sunglasses back on. “The fuck do  _ you _ have to be nervous for?”

“I dunno!” Lacey threw her hands up. “Catherine intimidates me!”

“You've never even met her before!” he laughed.

“Exactly! I wanna make a good impression!” she said. “It'll ruin the whole schtick if I come off like some stripper you picked up last night and had to bring along because you promised me a ride home!”

Lachlan stopped at the front door and spun around, tilting his head at her. “Question.”

Lacey looked up at him, raising her brows expectantly.

He drew closer, as if to whisper something to her, and she wet her lips.

“Where do you come up with this shite?”

She bit her cheek to stop from smiling. “Look,  _ pal. _ You're the one who asked me to come, for God only knows why. So let's not forget who's doing who a favor here.”

Even through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, Lacey could tell he was leering at her.

“And you've got to be kidding with those shades, by the way,” she snorted. “Nothing says,  _ I definitely have a hangover _ like a holding up a sign that says,  _ please don't notice how hungover I am.” _

Before he could say anything, the door swung open. 

“Good afternoon! Welcome to Two Figs! Table for two?”

The pair of them blinked at the overeager host inviting them inside. Lacey could see her reflection in his perfectly shined shoes, and not a single wrinkle in his crisp white shirt. 

Lachlan scoffed and brushed past him.

Grabbing his hand, Lacey followed Lachlan to the outdoor seating area, offering the host an apologetic shrug as they passed by. There was a time when they used to strut into clubs in such a fashion, exuding all the swagger of VIP guests, but now they were just two assholes grabbing brunch in the suburbs.

Lachlan stopped short once they made it to the patio, and Lacey bumped into him.

A middle-aged woman with dark hair noticed them first, and she nudged the shoulder of the faceless girl seated across from her. The long, brown hair that hung over her shoulders gave her away long before she rose out of her chair and turned around.

A wide smile bloomed across her face, and Lacey wondered how long it had been since Lachlan had had anyone smile at him like that– assuming it had ever happened at all. She wouldn't be surprised, judging by the misty look in his eyes as he pulled those ridiculous sunglasses off.

“God, is that really you?” Lachlan whispered, and Arianwen's face only brightened more.

He held her tight, and she squeezed him right back.

Watching them, one would never guess that Lachlan was anything less than a loving, doting father. Never guess that his daughter hadn't seen him since she was a toddler. Never guess that their relationship had been nonexistent for ten years. Never guess that she probably had no memories of the man hugging her whatsoever.

They slowly pulled apart, and Lachlan gripped her shoulders, giving her another long look. He smiled, and laid a hand over his heart.  _ “Arianwen,” _ he whispered, as though he couldn't believe she was real. “It's so good to see you.”

She swayed on her feet, not sure what to say or do, and rubbed the edge of her sleeve between her fingers. 

Before the silence could stretch into anything too awkward, Catherine stepped forward to give Lachlan a hug.

“God, what did  _ you _ do last night?” she asked as she let go, wrinkling her nose at the pungent smell of alcohol on him.

“Oh, it was an event? Sort of a tribute... party?” he admitted, taking his sunglasses off and hooking them on the collar of his shirt.  _ No point in trying to hide it now, _ Lacey supposed. “Drinks… music… dancing...”

“Still having enough fun for the both of us, then,” Catherine joked, giving him a finishing pat on the shoulder before turning to Lacey.

She knit her brows together, and Lacey could see the gears turning as she tried determine whether they’d met before or not.

Lachlan cleared his throat.  _ “Catherine.” _ he said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “This is ah…”

“Name’s Lacey.” she smiled, extending her hand and giving a firm shake. “Moral support.”

Catherine's eyes widened and her mouth opened to speak, but all she managed was an  _ “Oh.” _

“I hope you don't mind,” Lacey said. “I know this is kind of a uh, family affair. But… well, you know this guy,” she said, clamping a hand onto his shoulder. “Needs all the help he can get.”

“No,” she smiled. “No, not at all.  _ Please,” _ she invited her to sit.

Lacey let Lachlan take the seat closest to Arianwen– mostly because it was  _ also _ the seat directly across from Catherine, and there was no way in hell  _ that _ was happening.

Lacey only begun to pull her chair out when a waiter arrived. Lachlan ordered for the both of them while she wrestled with her hemline again before finally sitting down.

It wasn't that she felt _ threatened _ necessarily; more like looked down upon. Like Catherine had to be thinking, “ _ you poor thing, what the hell are you doing with this idiot?” _

Sure, one person's trash could be another's treasure– but that didn't change the fact that there would always be one person who knew just where your treasure had come from and how big a dumpster you'd had to dive through to get it.

Not that Lachlan was her  _ treasure  _ or anything; he was just a wad of gum that had gotten stuck to her shoe.

Lacey smoothed her dress over her thighs and scoot her seat up close. “Arianwen. It's so nice to finally meet you.” she said– which was true. 

Arianwen's freckled cheeks grew pink, and she nervously tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Hi.”

“Your dad's told me so much,” Lacey continued, and she flashed Catherine a convincing smile– because that was a straight up lie. Everything she knew about Lachy's family she'd gleaned from fleeting mentions in the handful of articles _ Kerrang!, NME, _ and  _ Melody Maker _ had put out after Jed died. 

Catherine arched a brow. “Has he now?”

“Oh yeah,” Lacey nodded. “Lachy's been really hoping for a chance to do this for a while now.”

“For  _ ten years?” _ she asked.

Lachlan sat up and almost opened his mouth.

_ “You know how it is,” _ Lacey said before he could put his foot in it. “Sometimes it takes dire circumstances for us to uh…” she trailed off once she spotted their waiter, returning with their drinks. “I mean, you were married to him– you know what I'm talking about.”

Catherine scoffed. “That I do.”

Only a second of terrible silence hung over the table before the waiter made his way over. “One coffee, sir…”

Lachlan nodded and let him set the mug down, but the waiter couldn't hand him his mimosa fast enough. He practically tore the thing from the guy's hands, immediately taking a heavy swig. Lacey narrowed her eyes at him disapprovingly, making a point of waiting at least a  _ few _ seconds after the waiter had set her glass down before taking a single dainty sip from it.

He rolled his eyes at her. Because he, of course, knew her better than that.

“So... Arianwen,” he said, putting his elbows on the table and leaning forward. “Arianwen. Wee Arianwen… How–”

“You know, it's Ari, actually.” Catherine cut in.

Lachlan blinked.  _ “What?” _

“Ari,” she shrugged. “That's her name.”

Arianwen shrunk back in her seat. “Mom. It's cool.”

“No. It's what you like to be called,” she insisted. “It's what your friends call you.”

“Wh-what?” Lachlan scoffed and looked to his daughter.  _ “Ari? _ Is that right?”

“Arianwen’s too complicated...” she mumbled.

“Well, there's nothin’ wrong with being complicated,” he laughed.

Arianwen smiled, but it quickly faltered. “Nobody knows how to pronounce it.”

Lachlan looked to Catherine and rolled his eyes. “It’s pronounced exactly like it's spelled!”

_ “No one can spell it,” _ Catherine said.

“No one can–” he cut himself off and muttered something under his breath.

Lacey set a hand on his knee under the table. She knew it wasn't just a name– not to him. For the past ten years,  _ Arianwen _ – that name– had been all he had of his daughter. All he knew. And now he was being told it was  _ wrong. _

“For God's sake, it’s a  _ beautiful _ name!” Lachlan assured her. “And your  _ mother _ thought so too, when we chose it.”

Arianwen hung her head, tucking her little chin against her chest, and Lacey could muster a bit of sympathy for the poor thing. She'd actually seemed excited when they first arrived, but that excitement was quickly being crushed under the weight of all the tension at the table.

_ “Can't spell it  _ is one hell of an excuse for people around here, isn't it?” Lacey blurted.

And just like that, she had three pairs of eyes on her.

Lacey wet her lips slowly and swallowed, resisting the itch to grab her drink again.

“I mean… Aren't they all naming their kids…  _ Brie-ay-leigh _ ? or  _ Mackayleigh-eigh _ these days? With like... as many extra letters as possible for no reason? ...Seriously,” she snorted, “what's the deal with that? I don't even wanna  _ know _ how some bougie white couple would spell  _ my _ name these days. I mean, what? Like… Lee-eigh-seigh?”

Already out of words to fill the silence with, Lacey felt her cheeks grow hot and her palms sweat. Wiping them over her thighs, she surveyed the table.

Arianwen had her head tilted at her.

Intimidating Catherine was staring at her with an expression Lacey couldn't even  _ begin _ to read.

She could read the pleading look on Lachlan's face, though. It  _ said, “Please stop talking.” _

Lacey bulged her eyes at him again though, because she  _ warned _ him about the rambling!

“Anyway, just saying,” she coughed and finally took that swig of her mimosa. “‘Can't spell  _ Arianwen’ _ sounds like a load of BS, if you ask me.”

She was fighting the urge to swill down the whole thing when relief finally came in the form a little snort at the end of the table.

“There’s a Brie-ay-leigh in my class,” Arianwen giggled, and just like that, the rest of the table decided it was worth a chuckle too.

Her eyes lingered for half a second too long though, and _ oh no. _

Lacey brought her glass back up to her lips and looked away, because she'd already made her contribution to the table. She was just supposed to sit and nod and smile until it was time for awkward hugs and goodbyes.

But Arianwen was curious about her father, and evidently, equally curious about the strange woman he'd brought with him.

“Lacey?” she asked, “How um, how do you know my dad?”

Lacey stopped slurping down her drink and swallowed. “Ah…”

Stammering, Lachlan looked to her– and at least he understood they were in this together.

It was time for a cliché.

“Uh… it's a long story,” Lacey chuckled. “But I was a fan of his back in the day and we uh… hung out after one of his shows.”

It was close enough to the truth. Just a very, very simplified version of events.

“Aye. That's right.” Lachlan nodded and smiled in relief. “We… hung out.”

“Cool!” Arienwen beamed. “I'd love to meet my some of my favorite bands!”

Lachlan coughed into his fist. “No you wouldn't.”

_ “Okay,” _ Catherine cleared her throat with rushed finality, and Arianwen glanced around the table, seemingly unaware of why everyone was so uncomfortable.

“...Never meet your idols, kid,” Lacey said, smacking a hand on the table. “They're always smelly and gross.” She leaned over and lowered her voice to whisper.  _ “...Luckily for your Dad, I don't mind a little stink,” _ she winked.

Arianwen giggled, and Catherine seemed to relax.

“So you're my dad's girlfriend?”

Lacey's mouth hung open, and she turned to Lachlan, who looked just as lost as she felt. Would it be stupid to say, “it's complicated?” Because the truth wasn't exactly the sort of thing that left a shining impression. 

Besides, she’d already delivered one cliché.

“...No…?” she guessed, because  _ one _ of them had to say  _ something. _

But of course he just had to smile and answer,  _ “Aye, that's right,” _ at the same damn time.

He was ready to wrap an arm around her waist too– until she bulged her eyes at him. He dropped his arm and bulged his eyes right back.

_ “...Uh-oh.” _ Catherine chuckled. “Gonna have to talk about that one later, huh?” she said, trying her best to gloss over it as though they were two idiots who'd shown up to an event wearing the same outfit.

_ What the hell was he thinking? _ These people were his best shot at dodging deportation. Surely Catherine would be less inclined to sign some papers if she thought he already had someone who could  _ actually _ vouch for him.

_ Ought to stomp on his foot, _ Lacey thought.

Arianwen shrugged. “It's okay,” she said. “I get it.”

But  _ did she?  _ Lacey thought.  _ Did she, really? _

She forcibly grabbed Lachlan’s hand and smiled at him. “You know, it just… it's all just so new, still,” she chuckled weakly.

“Aye,” he caught on, and tucked a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Still... very new.”

“We were  _ just friends _ for so long, so… not really used to the whole…  _ couple _ thing yet,” Lacey said. “But ah…” she laughed nervously and threw her hand up, _ “there it is!” _

“Aw, well congratulations,” Catherine smiled. “Sounds like a great stor–”   

“That's enough about us,” Lachlan cut her off, clapping his hands together and turning back to Arianwen. “Sweetheart, h-how's school?”

She pouted her lips and shrugged. “It's good.”

He exhaled slowly and smiled, scooting closer. “What ah… what year are you now? You're at high school, is it?

“Yeah. Ninth grade.”

“Ah,” he nodded, “Ninth grade… I think that's roughly around the time I dropped out, in fact.”

“Yeah,” Catherine confirmed quietly, looking none too thrilled by the direction this conversation was going.

Even Lachlan could pick up on that much, and he dove to salvage it. “I mean I didn't actually  _ drop out,” _ he said, and Lacey tilted her head, waiting to hear how he planned to sugar coat that one. 

“Well, you see–” Lachlan turned to Ari, “I left one day… And I didnae go back!” he laughed.

Arianwen gasped, leaning in with wide eyes. “Why?”

“Went to Manchester for a ah…” he tapped a finger on the table as he tried to remember. “...A _Smiths_ show that night. And I liked it there _so_ much... I decided to stay,” he shrugged.

“So what did you do?” she asked, hanging onto his every word.

“Oh…” Lachlan sighed and clicked his tongue. “Exciting things were happening in the music scene then, you know? All these new bands, new sounds... lots of big parties, with drugs, and–”

“Maybe let's not talk about the past,” Catherine interrupted, and Arianwen's face fell. “Let's… Let's stick to the present, for now.”

Lachlan froze for a moment, eyes blank and mouth hanging open, before smacking his lips.  _ “Right,” _ he nodded, hunching his shoulders and caving his chest. “The present.”

He sat up sharply and shifted in his seat, reaching into his pocket. “Got this form from my lawyer…” he said, handing the form across the table. “ Got a list of reasons someone might claim extreme hardship for a relative.”

“Alright,” Catherine begrudgingly accepted it from him and began skimming it over.

Unable to watch, Lacey looked straight ahead and began rubbing her temples.  _ Maybe now would be a good time to excuse herself to the bathroom, _ she thought.

Catherine scoffed and began to read aloud. “You have a major medical condition, e.g., brain tumor, multiple sclerosis, cerebral palsy, for which you need your spouse to take care of you?”

“Well, that's just  _ one _ example,” Lachlan mumbled in his defense. “Levels two to three have… much more…. reasonable… reasons?” he said reaching over and encouraging her to flip the page.

“Nuh-uh.” Catherine shook her head and set it on the table. “I'm not doing this.” 

“Oh, come on!” he whined, throwing his hands up.

“I'm not going to re– to create a history that doesn't exist!”

Lachlan went still, staring back in silence. His jaw clenched and he swallowed, clearly trying to compose himself.

“You're not  _ creating  _ anything. It's just a piece of paper,” he said, picking it up and waving it in the air. “That's all.”

Catherine sighed and lowered her voice, so that the other guests couldn't overhear. “I'm not going to  _ perjure _ myself, and I'm certainly not going to let Ari–’

Lachlan slapped the paper down and turned to Arianwen. “Talk to your mother, will you?” he urged, and Ari jerked her head back, blinking.

“Oh, you can't be serious!” Catherine shouted, and Lacey sank further into her seat.

This was too much.

Could she just get up and pretend to have never met him before in her life?

She shouldn't even be here.  _ Why _ was she here? 

_ To make sure he didn't fuck anything up, _ Lacey reminded herself.

Their voices continued to raise, spitting fire back and forth as they argued, and  _ Goddammit,  _ he was definitely fucking  _ everything _ up.

_ “Lachy…” _ she grit through her teeth, nudging him with her elbow.

“Why do you have to make such a big deal out of everything?!” he accused, wringing his hands at Catherine.

Her eyes bulged and she let out a humorless laugh. _ “I'm _ making a big deal?” she asked. “Would you  _ listen _ to yourself?!”

“I'm just asking for a wee favor!”

“A  _ wee favor?! _ You're asking me to  _ break the law!” _ she shouted in a whisper.

Lacey eyed the door to the dining room, psyching herself to get up and leave before it could worse. But then she caught sight of Arianwen, week was staring down at her iced tea, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Her arms were folded tightly on the table, her little thumbs rubbing circles into the sleeves of her shirt again.

“Oh, like you've never done a single wrong thing–”

_ “Lachy!”  _ Lacey tried to cut him off, without success.

“–in _ your life!” _

“Lachlan! I'm not going to put myself in that position!”

“No! Of course not,” he scoffed. “Always  _ did _ have a stick up your arse, didn't you?”

“Lachlan!” Lacey shouted as loudly as she could bring herself to in a  _ white table cloth  _ establishment.

He went rigid then, gaping at her with wide eyes. For a fleeting moment, Lacey thought he'd become self-aware, but he pressed his lips together and turned away from her.

“Fuck it!” he said, and rose out of his chair. “I don't know what else I was expecting,” he muttered, pulling out his wallet and tossing a few bills on the table.

Catherine rolled her eyes. “Lachlan, sit down!”

He ignored her and turned to his daughter, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Arianwen,” he said softly, with a smile. “It was really, really, lovely to see you. Really lovely.”

“Lachlan,” Catherine sighed, exasperated. “Don't do this.”

“I'm taking this back,” he said, swiping the paperwork off the table, “And I'm out of here.”

Lacey hesitated, her eyes darting back and forth between Arianwen, Catherine, and Lachlan as he stormed off.

“I-I–” she stammered. “I'm so sorry,” she told Arianwen, and rose from her seat.

If they hadn't caused a scene yet, Lacey certainly did next, as she stumbled across the patio, stumbling into tables and wait staff in her hurry to leave.

She found Lachlan further down the sidewalk, marching off to God knows where. For a second, she considered if he was even worth it.

_ God, _ she really needed to stop wearing heels.

With a resigned huff, Lacey hurried after him and grabbed his arm.

“What the  _ fuck _ was that!?” she shouted.

He stopped and sighed, snapping around to look at her. “What?”

“Your ex-wife gives you a chance to reconnect with your daughter– a chance that by all counts, you don't fucking deserve– and you  _ piss _ all over it by making it all about  _ you _ and  _ your problems?!” _

He looked up to the sky and took a deep breath. “Aye, well I've got a pretty  _ big _ fucking problem, a’right?”

“And what about  _ her!?”  _ Lacey shouted. “With the deadbeat dad who can't be bothered to call or visit her for ten goddamn years? And then when he finally does, it's only so he can get something out of it?!”

“What do you want me to do!?” Lachlan threw his hand up in frustration. “I'm not  _ meant _ to be a fath–”

“Tough shit!”

He pursed his lips and looked away in what Lacey knew was shame.

“You could  _ try,” _ she said, but all the anger had already left her voice, leaving it small and uncertain. She sniffed and rubbed her nose. “You know?”

Lachlan glanced back at the door and hesitated. “Look, I  _ know _ I'm a piece of shite, alright? Don't need reminding.”

“Come on.” Lacey said, nodding toward the restaurant. “Let's go back and apologise.”

But Lachlan didn't budge.

_ “Lachy.”  _

“Lacey, _ please,” _ he begged– and the thing in his eyes wasn't anger, but fear. “I  _ can't.” _

It was hard to look him at him this way, so Lacey looked down at the sidewalk instead. “Yes, you can. You can  _ try _ to.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “And what am I supposed to say?”

“I don't know.” Lacey shrugged. “Sorry for being a complete ass? The looming threat of deportation has me not exactly being my best self right now?”

That got a little scoff out of him, and it eased enough of the tension for her to look him in the eyes again. 

“Come on.” she said. “You want to know your daughter. Admit it.”

“Well, of  _ course _ I'm interested–”

“Interested? Your face lit up the  _ second _ you saw her.”

He rolled his eyes, and Lacey took his hand in both of hers.

“Look– I get it,” she said. “You fucked up every important relationship you ever had and you're afraid you'll fuck this one up too.”

That fear burned in his eyes again, but Lacey refused to look away this time.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked, chin trembling. “I mean,  _ look at me,”  _ he tapped his fingers to his chest. “What could I  _ possibly _ have to give her? Stories about all the drugs I used to do? How much I enjoyed every minute of it and wish I could back? Even after the way I–” he cut himself off and took a step back, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Ten years was for the best. She's better off without me.”

“No,” Lacey shook her head. “No, I don't believe that.”

“You said it yourself– I'm a fucking  _ loser, _ alright?”

Lacey put her hands on her hips and looked back down at the ground. “Don't… fuck this up over something  _ I _ said, okay? I say stupid shit all the time.”

Lachlan stayed quiet, and she dragged the heel of her shoe against the sidewalk to distract herself.

“Why do you even care, Lace?” he asked, and her heart dropped into her stomach. She couldn't muster an answer, though.

He hated himself, and so did she. She was in no place to fix that. The best she could do was let herself be the target for once.

_ “Of all people,”  _ he went on. “I mean for fuck’s sake– You drove three thousand miles to get the hell away from  _ your  _ father!”

The barb landed, piecing her thick skin– and Lacey stood still, waiting for the sting to fade away. 

“That's not the same thing.” she said at last.

Lachlan scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh. Oh, it's not, is it?”

She sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye. “No. It's not.”

“‘Cause from where I'm standing, it seems like you've got one  _ hell _ of a bloody nerve giving _ me _ father-daughter advice.”

“Don’t,” she croaked. “You're being an asshole.”

He leaned in closely and Lacey swallowed. “I’m only telling the truth,” he said, and she held still– frozen in place as he drew back.

He began walking back to the bus stop without her, and Lacey curled her hand into a tight fist as she watched him go, her fingernails digging into her palm.

“I did what I had to, okay?” she hollered after him. “For my  _ own _ fucking sanity.”

He stopped walking and spun around. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Lacey swallowed hard. “I don't know. Just... whatever. It’s fine,” she dodged the question and finally followed him over. “Let's just go home.”


	10. Chapter 9

Lachlan had been despondent ever since their catastrophic brunch with Catherine last weekend– a condition that was only made worse after Warren chewed him out for spending the weekend in LA instead of coming back to help Julian unload the truck.

Lacey felt bad, because it was at least partially her own fault for nagging him to go. Having overheard some of the lecture, and she couldn’t help feeling like she’d been chewed out, too.

Irresponsible. Lazy. Selfish. Disappointment.

She’d winced at each every word Warren had thrown at him, and if  _ she  _ felt completely shitty come the end of it, Lacey could only imagine how Lachlan felt.

He was drinking more than usual. His casual drink or two in the evening was now followed by a third or fourth he took to bed. He didn’t drink it all right away– but come the morning, it was always empty.

They didn’t really speak to each other, either. Lacey continued to spend her evenings on the couch, flipping through her repair manual or scrolling through her phone– but Lachlan was spending more time in bed, hiding under layers of blankets and grumbling in protest when she’d come to into the bedroom at the end of the night and turn the fan on.

It was becoming all too familiar.

She needed a change, something to break up the routine.

Fortunately, when she asked to borrow his truck so she could make a trip to the auto parts store in town, he hadn’t complained.

Her first stop was to the farm, however. There were certain things she’d rather not have to spend the money on, and she was sure she’d be able to borrow from the equipment shed. And as long she returned them before the end of the day, no one would even need to know that they’d gone missing.

She wasn’t sure which barn was the one they kept such things in, but if she had to guess, it would be the same one they kept the tractors in overnight. She slipped through the oversized doors and immediately realized just how dark it was inside without the sunlight pouring in.

_ Where was the light switch?  _

_ Did these things even have electricity? _

Before she could give it much thought, one of the giant barn doors began to creak open, flooding the space with light.

She dove into the nearest corner and held her breath.

There was a pause, a click, and yes– there  _ was _ electricity.

Julian took a step forward and looked around, and there really wasn’t any place to hide– so Lacey stepped into the light.

“Hey!” she smiled. “Julian! What uh… what are you doin’ in  _ here?” _

“Uh…” he tilted his head at her. “What are  _ you _ doing in here?”

“Oh…” she lolled her head around, “Just… needed someplace to… think.”

He arched a brow.

“You know,” she chuckled, “I do some of my best thinkin’ in… dark… equipment sheds.”

“...Right…” He nodded, not believing her for half a second.

She couldn’t blame him.

“Alright, fine,” she huffed, slouching her shoulders. “I was  _ hoping…  _ that  _ maybe…  _ I could uh… borrow some tools?”

He swept his eyes over her with suspicion.  _ “...Borrow?” _

Throwing her head back, Lacey looking up at the ceiling and sighed. “Look, I’m not a thief, alright?” she said, throwing her hands up. “I just need to work on my car and Lachy doesn’t have the kind of tools I need and it’s just for a couple hours! I was gonna bring ‘em back, I swear!”

Julian huffed a little laugh and shook his head. “You could’ve just asked my dad.”

“Yeah, right! _”_ she scoffed. “You’re dad’s fucking _intimidating!”_

He cracked a full smile. “You’ve never even talked to him.”

“Because! He’s  _ intimidating!” _ she said, flailing her arms. “Also, I’m pretty sure he already hates me after last weekend.”

Julian gave her another skeptical look. “...What kinda tools do you need?”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “It just so happens I have a list,” she said, showing it to him.

Lips pressed together, he squinted at it for a moment and sighed. “You  _ promise _ you’ll bring them back?”

Lacey rolled her eyes again. “No– I’m gonna make off with them and sell ‘em to _a shady pawn shop_ run by some guy with a _gold tooth_ and _no first name,”_ she muttered sarcastically.

He jerked his head back and blinked owlishly. “That’s… oddly specif–”

“Of course I’ll bring them back!”

“Hey–” he pointed a finger at her, “I already got burned last time when I let you work the market.”

Lacey scoffed. “Yeah, trust me– _ that _ won't be happening again.”

Julian slumped his shoulders and sighed. “Alright, yeah. We should have most of that stuff around here,” He shrugged, and nodded toward the back of the barn. “Come on.”

“Seriously?” she asked, following after him. “You… you trust me?”

“No,” Julian snorted. “But I know where you live,” he said, with a lightness that made her smile.

He stopped in front of a wall lined with tall shelves and tool chests, and Lacey watched as he slid each of the drawers open and closed– humming and mumbling while he searched for the pieces she needed.

“You know, he really looks like shit,” Julian said, moving onto the next chest. “What happened last weekend?”

She inhaled deeply, but couldn't seem to fill her lungs completely. “We both fucked up.”

Julian paused and looked over his shoulder at her.

Lacey sighed. “His ex let him see his daughter, but we were hungover from the night before, and it didn't go well, so we got into an argument and–”

“Wait–” he scoffed. “You're telling me he has a  _ daughter _ now, too?”

Lacey shrugged. “He's a man of many secrets.”

“He never talks about her, is all.”

“He never  _ sees  _ her.”

Julian frowned. “Not even for like, holidays?”

“No, not even _for_ _like, holidays,”_ she grumbled. “This was the first time he's seen her in ten goddamn years.”

“Whoa. I couldn't imagine not seeing my dad for–”

_ “Yeah, it's real shitty,” _ she cut him off, wrapping her arms around herself and glancing over her shoulder. “So now he’s drinking more and not talking to me. Again.” She sighed and shook her head. “...fucking idiot.”

“He’s been like this before?”

“Why do you think we’re separated?”

Julian shrugged. “I don’t know… because you married him the night you met him and you were both drunk and it was just a bad idea?”

“No, that’s not–” Lacey cut herself off and swallowed. Now  _ there  _ was a terrifying thought. That in some other timeline, the two of them would have actually worked.

“Why don't you just talk to him? Tell him how you feel?” Julian asked.

“Because,” she sighed. “I mean, wait–  _ what? _ I don't tell him how I feel because there's nothing to tell. He's hot and I like his face but otherwise he's a total fuckin’ loser and if he gets deported I won't miss him.”

Julian chuckled and shook his head.

“What?”

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he laughed, handing her the tools he’d picked out and moving onto the shelves. “No wonder you're so lonely.”

“I'm not lonely!” she said. “I know tons of people!”

He dragged out a step ladder and began climbing up to one of the top shelves. “Knowing someone's not the same as  _ having _ someone.”

“I'm sorry,” Lacey scoffed. “Didn't realize I was talking to the next Dalai fuckin’ Lama over here.”

“Just saying.” Julian shrugged, rummaging through the the clutter on the shelf. “You're the one who keeps making up excuses to spend time with him because he's the only person around here who likes you.” He lifted up a large, plastic drain pain. “Here, catch–” he called over his shoulder and tossed it down.

“Hey!” Lacey stumbled back and smacked it away, the hollow thing hitting the ground with a thud. “Lachy and I don't  _ like _ each other. We just  _ tolerate _ each other,” she muttered, bending down to pick it back up.

“Yeah, okay,” he snorted with an incredulous eye roll, making his way back down.

“What?”

“All you two do is  _ flirt _ with each–”

“And I'm insulted you don't consider us friends.”

He reached the bottom rung of the ladder and paused. “We're  _ not  _ friends,” he said, hopping off. “You're only nice to people when you want something from them. That's not a friend.”

“Oh,  _ please!” _

“Not once have you ever asked me, ‘Julian, how are  _ you _ doing? How was  _ your _ day?’”

Lacey narrowed her eyes at him. “...Alright,” she put on a smile, “How are  _ you  _ doing, Julian?”

“Hm,” he shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

“Wow,” she deadpanned. “I’m so glad I asked.”

He smiled and shook his head. “But alright, look. Lachlan, more or less,  _ has _ been sober. All four years here's been here.”

Lacey scoffed. As long as there wasn't anyone around to see it, drinking himself to sleep every night was as good as being sober, apparently.

“I mean, he grabs a beer with my dad every now and then, but… He's been okay. But every year, around this time, he gets worse. Shows up to work hungover, gets… depressed, I don't know. But this deportation thing has him messed up real bad. Worse than I've ever seen him. I don't know what happened between you two twelve years ago, but it would explain a lot, is all I'm saying.”

“We didn't even know each other twelve years ago,” Lacey pouted. “Hell, I was barely out of high school.”

Julian shrugged. “Well, I dunno.”

She sighed. “Twelve years ago is when his brother died.”

“You know him better than any of us do. Maybe you could actually  _ talk _ to him instead of just… calling him an idiot, dirtbag, asshole.”

_ “Know him better than you do? _ After working with him for four years? Look, kid– I just  _ banged  _ him for a few months. That's it.”

Julian frowned.

“Besides, I already tried that once. It blew up in my face,” Lacey said, folding her arms over her chest. “That's the thing about people who need the most help. They _ don't want it. _ It's easier for them to get drunk, or high, or yell at you and call you a delusional fucking groupie for caring. But then when you realize you deserve better and pack your bags, you're a heartless cunt for leaving.”

Julian sighed and looked down at his feet. “m’sorry. I didn't know–”

“You care about him?” Lacey asked.

He shrugged. “All of us here,” he gestured around the farm, “we're kinda like...  _ family. _ You know?”

“And Lachy's the weird uncle who's fun to be around, but seriously needs to get his shit together?” she joked.

Julian smiled. “I guess,” he said. “So yeah. Of course I care about him.”

Lacey twisted her lips and sighed. “I still care about him too,” she admitted.

  
  
  


*****

  
  
  


Lacey wiped the sweat from her brow and let out a frustrated sigh, looking over the mess of hoses, valves, and plugs that sat under the hood of the car.

She  _ really _ didn't know what the fuck she was doing.

Her eyes kept drifting to a large rubber hose that fed into what she was at least  _ eighty percent _ sure was the fuel pump, and disappeared somewhere deep into the chasm of the engine compartment.

She wasn't sure if it was the hose she was looking for– but if it wasn't, then had no fucking idea what else might be.

_ Did it have to be so damned hot outside? _

She wiped her brow again, loathe to think what she must look like right now. She was sweaty, her hands were grimy with dirt and dust, and her hair  _ had _ to be a giant ball of frizz by now. To top it all off, she was feeling like a fucking idiot.

She hated feeling like an idiot.

_ “What have you got to lose at this point?” _ she mumbled to herself, echoing Lachlan's words from the other day.

It was a valid point. She could hardly drive the damned thing as it was. How much damage could she possibly do to something that already belonged in a scrap yard?

She glanced back at the repair manual. It was precariously balanced on the edge of the bumper, opened up to a diagram that only made her feel more confused and hopeless the longer she stared at it.

Lacey blew a tendril of hair out of her face. 

“Fuck it,” she decided, stepping over to the assortment of tools she had laid out and grabbing a wrench that looked about the right size for the job. “Let's just do this.”

Climbing over the engine compartment, she stretched over to her target, straining to reach the clamps that held the hose in place so she could loosen them. 

“This would be  _ so  _ much easier,” she muttered to herself, “if you weren't five foot two–”

_ “Lace?” _

Lacey startled and dropped the wrench, sending it knocking around the engine compartment like a Plinko disc until it finally fell through and clanked onto the cement driveway below.

“What the  _ fuck, _ Lachy!?” She spun around, hand clutched to her chest. “Jesus Christ, how long have you been standing there?!”

He eyed her legs, and a smug grin tugged at his lips. “Long enough to admire the view,” he joked, and Lacey had to squash the flattered part of herself that wanted to smile.

“Yeah? What?” she grumbled. “What do do you want?”

His smile fell, and he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Nothing,” he shrugged. “Just done for the day.”

“Oh.”

Lacey returned to her work, but she heard his footsteps approach, and couldn't complain when he blocked out the harsh sun, casting her in shadow.

Still ignored him, though.

“Look. I wanted to thank you,” he said. 

Lacey paused, the words hitting her ears as oddly as she was sure they'd left his mouth. She shook her head and continued loosening the clamps. “Thank me for what?”

“Coming with me. To see Arianwen.”

Lacey furrowed her brows. “Well, I didn't have much of a choice, now did I?”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But… I don't know. It helped, I think.”

Lacey wiggled the the fuel line free and scoffed. “Did it?” she asked. The clamp fell off the hose, clinking into the compartment below, and she smothered a frustrated groan.

“Look. It was just– it means a lot, is all.”

“Not enough for you to listen to me when I told you to stop being an ass,” she muttered.

He sighed. “I know. I'm sorry.”

She moved on to loosening the next clamp, needing the distraction.

“I don't… I don't like this,” Lachlan said. “This… silent treatment shite.”

She rolled her eyes. “You think I'm giving you the _ silent _ treatment?”

“I don't know.”

“Believe me,” she scoffed, pulling herself upright. “If I was giving you the silent treatment–  _ you'd know.” _

He looked away, rubbing a hand over his chest.

“Look, I'm not…  _ angry, _ Lachy. I'm just–”

“I've always been a disappointment, alright?” he said. “To everyone. But knowing _ you're _ disappointed, it… it's worse, somehow.”

“Why? Because my standards are already so damn low?”

“No,” he mumbled. “Because after everything, I can't help but give a toss what you think.”

Lacey gazed into the engine compartment, and it was all starting to look like a big mess again. She quickly grabbed the inline fuel filter that dangled from the carburetor, and tugged it off while she still had the mind to.

She hadn’t expected any sort of thanks or apology from him. Didn’t think one was really warranted. His relationship with his daughter was his own business, and what right had she to project her own bullshit onto it?

She’d backed him into a corner, and in return, he’d back her into one too. As far as she was concerned, they were even.

But now he was standing there, offering some sort of explanation, she couldn't help feeling like she owed  _ him _ one.

“I just couldn't stand being around my dad anymore, alright?” she offered, beginning to unscrew the filter apart. “After my mom died? He got depressed. Stopped taking care of himself. Stopped taking care of me. I tried to help him, at first. But it felt pointless after a while, you know? Just this feeling like I wasn't worth it to him. That whatever hole mom left, I’d never be able to fill it. Not even a little bit.”

“Lace, I'm sorry.”

She sighed and opened the little metal cylinder up, studying all the sticky black grime trapped inside after years neglect.

“I mean,  _ logically, _ I understand it,” she said. “That it's not his fault– That it's the loss and the chemicals in his brain and shit. But… it still just fucks you up, you know? I was  _ sixteen _ when she died. It was hard for me, too. I got so tired of being strong for him all the time, so as soon as I could, I just… left. I hopped in my car and I drove as far away from him as I could. Because that's the kind of  _ heartless cunt _ that I am.”

She pushed away from the car and carried the filter over to the pile of tools and parts she'd accumulated along the side of the house, tucked beneath the shade of the roof. Rummaging through the bags from the automotive shop, she produced a pressurized can of cleaner and idly skimmed the instructions.

Lachlan followed her over and leaned against the wall with a sigh. “I didn’t know,” he said. “The extent of it, I mean.”

“Well, it’s not the sort of thing you just  _ tell  _ people, now is it?” she laughed emptily. 

“No. But I  _ get  _ it,” he said, and Lacey froze when she felt his hand grasp her arm. “I do.”

She pressed her lips together, tongue poking out to lick the sweat from her upper lip. “Just… don't you  _ dare _ make that girl feel like she isn't worth it, okay?”

The hand on her arm dropped. “You don't think it's too late?” Lachlan asked. “For me? I mean, she's fourteen. She's doing good in school. She's… she deserves better. Better than me.”

Lacey peered over the can at him.  _ “...No.” _ She snapped her eyes back to the label one last time before sticking the straw into the nozzle. “From the way she was looking at you? No. I'd say it's not too late for you.”

“Well, what about you? Your da. If he tried to… would you–”

“I don't know,” Lacey shrugged. “I like to think that  _ one day _ I might go back. I know that I  _ should. _ But it just– I don't know how I feel yet, alright?” she admitted. “I thought I just needed some time away from him, but the more time goes by… I just don't know.”

She wiped the sweat from her brow and sprayed a generous amount of cleaner into one of the filter's nozzles– the excess either landing on her shirt or dripping onto the ground, taking the black sludge that had been trapped inside with it.

“No. No, I understand,” Lachlan said. He heaved a sigh and looked back out at the car, gesturing limply at it. “So how's all this going?”

Lacey shrugged, trading the canister for a rag and wiping the filter dry. “Who knows. I'll just be happy if she doesn't fucking explode and kill us both when I start her up again.”

He huffed a little laugh through his nose, folding his arms over his chest. “Well, I'm optimistic.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

Standing shoulder to shoulder, they took in the sight of the car– lifted up on a jack, the hood opened up while a drip pan sat below.

“It's a good look for you, by the way,” Lachlan said.

Lacey rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself.

“Pretty sure I had an issue of Playboy that looked something like this. Pretty lass in wee shorts... bent over a Mustang… covered in–”

“Alright, keep it in your pants,” she laughed, nudging him with her shoulder.

He nudged her back. “I'm only taking the piss,” he said. “You know, I have a lot of respect for women who–”

“Yeah,” Lacey snorted, smacking him below the belt with the rag. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


Lacey sank bonelessly into bed after her shower. Scouring the grease off of her hands had been enough of a chore after spending the day working on the car, and she was on the cusp of sleep when she felt Lachlan's weight sink into the mattress beside her.

She waited for the accompanying thud of a whisky glass on the nightstand, but it never came– so she rolled over to face him.

“No drink tonight?” she asked.

He frowned and thought for a moment. “No,” he shrugged. 

She pouted her lips. “...Hm.”

“Well,” he tugged up the covers, “G’night, Lace.”

“G’night, Lachy.” Lacey rolled back over, pulling them up to her chin.

She closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep, but Julian's words kept echoing in her mind.

_ Knowing someone's not the same as having someone. _

What the hell had he meant by that? What was he implying? 

What did it even mean to  _ have _ someone, really?

Someone you could depend on? That  _ far _ from described the man lying next to her.

Someone who could take care of you? Bastard could hardly take care of himself.

Someone who made you smile? Lacey supposed he had his moments, but he also made her a lot of other things. Like angry, frustrated, annoyed.

Perhaps it was about having someone who understood you, Lacey thought. A kindred spirit. Someone who saw all the ugly parts of yourself you tried your damnedest to hide from the world, who could pull you aside, open their chest, and say,  _ look– me too! _

Lacey’s breath caught and she opened her eyes. Unable to help herself, she rolled over and snuck a glance in Lachlan's direction.

She scoot closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder– and then he stirred. Heart pounding in her chest, Lacey held still while he lifted his arm up, wrapping it around her shoulders and inviting her to get comfortable.

She carefully tucked herself against his chest, while something warm swam in hers. Every inch of her skin, every pore, seemed to ache with the need to get closer. She wiggled under the covers, slowly closing the distance between them, relishing the feel of having her body pressed against his. She was tentative at first– but the more contact she got, the more she craved, and soon she was snaking an arm around his waist and burrowing her face in his neck.

Lacey could’ve sworn she’d felt his hips beginning to shift towards her, but then he twitched and picked his head up, knitting his brows down at her. “What are you doing?”

Her body tensed, but she was able to manage a nonchalant shrug. “Nothing. I just… I can’t get comfortable? I think I must have pulled something in my neck or whatever while I was working on the car today.”

Lachlan stared blankly at her and swallowed. “...Right. Well… goodnight.  _ Again,”  _ he scoffed, and started rolling away from her.

“No, wait–” she blurted, and he turned back to her with wide eyes and parted lips.

She lunged forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

It wasn't _ enough. _ Not really. But it was  _ something _ . Enough to make him stop and look at her a moment longer.

She wet her lips, staring at his.

They parted, twitched, and she drew closer. Her breaths were loud and trembling, and there was no mistaking her intentions anymore– yet he remained still. Perfectly still while she plucked his lips with her own.

She lingered on them with uncertainty, and at last he opened up to her. His hand came up to comb through her hair and warmth flooded Lacey's chest as he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. It stole her breath, and she smiled at the touch of his hand on her thigh. She pulled away to look at him, finding him as short of breath as she was, lips parted and glistening in the dim light of the bedroom.

Their eyes met and they exchanged half nods, so she dove back in, climbing over him eagerly. She drew a sharp breath when his hand reached her hip. His thumb brushed over her skin, and his fingers soon tucked themselves inside her panties, tugging them down.

He began to knead at her bottom, slowly making his way between her thighs until she let out a moan. His fingers rubbed at the sweet spot there, and she bit down on his lip in anticipation while they continued to exchange sloppy, needy kisses. 

She was already coming so undone, and groaned in protest, reaching into his boxers so she could level the playing field.

He grabbed her wrist, before she could grab him.

“Is this what you want?” he asked breathlessly against her ear.

_ “Yes,” _ she panted, shaking herself free of his grip.

“No,” he blocked her again.  _ “Really.” _

She pulled away and furrowed her brows at him.

“I… I thought we agreed it was a one-time thing.”

Lacey smiled. “I changed my mind.”

He didn't seem satisfied with that answer, and continued to hold her arm still.

She rolled her eyes. “Look, I was just frustrated and horny and needed a fuck last time.”

His grip loosened, but she didn't move. “So what's changed?”

She looked away and sighed. Immediately scolded herself and looked back at him. “I don't  _ need _ it, I just… I  _ want _ it. With you.”

He blinked owlishly, his expression impossible to read.  _ “...What?” _

The underwhelming reaction set her cheeks aflame, and Lacey scolded herself again. “I _ don't know! _ God, since when do you ask so many  _ questions?!” _ she whined– because she didn't want to examine the truth, let alone admit it– whatever the hell it was. “Look–  _ I wanna have sex with you,”  _ she said. “Is the feeling mutual or not?”

He scoffed and shook his head. His tongue poked out and swept across his lip, while his eyes wandered over her body and up to her face. “Aye,” he nodded. “I want it too.”

Lacey pursed her lips together tightly, trying to hide her smile. “With me?” she asked.

“I’m sorry,” he looked around the dark of the bedroom, “is there… somebody else–”

“That's not what I–” she cut herself off once she noticed the little smirk on his face, her cheeks burning.

“I know.” He sat up against the pillows and pat his lap. “Come here.”

Lacey climbed up on her knees, fighting back a smile as she straddled him.

He took one of her hands and smiled. “I would  _ love...” _ he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, “to fuck my wife.”

_ “Lachy…” _ she teased, “you really know what to say to a girl, don't you?”

He tilted his head at her and gave a self-satisfied shrug. “I know what to say to  _ you.” _

Lacey bit her cheek, and the warm feeling in her chest swelled into a searing pang of bliss. His eyes were watching her with such adoration, and wasn't that all anyone ever really wanted? To be adored?

Lachlan set his hands on her thighs, smoothing them up and down a few times before settling on her hips. His thumbs swept beneath the hem of the oversized white shirt she wore, lifting it up a little. He slowly pulled it over her shoulders, over her head, before letting it drop behind her.

Something in the way he was staring made Lacey sit a little taller, made the silence between them feel serene rather than uncomfortable. If there was any part of sex Lacey didn't like, it was being seen like this. When the veil covering those ugly, secret parts of herself was at its thinnest.

But Lachlan already knew those parts.

She slid her hands under his shirt and lifted it up so that she might see his, too.

His eyes strayed from hers at first, and Lacey smiled in understanding– tempted to open up and tell him,  _ me too! _

Lacey cupped his face, and leaned in closely. “I want my husband to fuck me,” she whispered.

_ “That _ can be arranged,” he grinned, giving her a few light taps on her bottom before rolling her onto her back.

“Condom,” Lacey blurted, before he could get into position.

He blinked owlishly. “Aye, I was just gonnae wait until– _ ” _

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he sighed.

“Where’s the romance, Lace?” he lamented, climbing across the bed and reaching over to the nightstand.

“You can romance me all you want,” she said. “After you wrap it up.”

He shot her a doubtful look before plucking a condom out of the drawer.

“Don't give me that look,” she laughed. “You like being bossed around in bed and you  _ know _ it.”

“Aye? Well, you're just bossy regardless of whether you're in bed or not,” he chuckled and began to roll it on. “...How's this?” he asked, gesturing demonstratively at his cock once he was finished.

“Very sexy,” Lacey laughed. “Now get your scrawny little ass back over here.”


	11. Chapter 10

Lacey woke with a start to the sound of someone knocking on the front door. She shifted in bed, finding herself spooned up behind Lachlan, and inhaled deeply, taking in his scent.

Before drifting off to sleep last night, Lacey imagined they would spend the morning soaking in the splendor of what they'd just shared, but this was just her luck.

Through the walls, she could whoever it was outside shouting an alphabet soup of letters to assert whatever authority they had.

Grabbing his shoulder, she gave Lachlan a shake to wake him.

“Lachy,” she whispered. “Lachy. Wake up.”

He made a tired sound, and his hand came up to rub at his face.

“Someone's at the door,” she said. “Sounds like cops or something.”

There was another round of knocking. Another round of letters.

Lachlan gasped– loudly, as if he'd been trapped under water and just reached the surface.

_ “Fuck,”  _ he muttered, sitting up in bed. “It’s immigration.” He sprung out of bed and started plucking whatever clothes he could find off the floor so he could make himself presentable. Gave up and rushed to the bathroom to take a piss. “Can ye get that? Please?”

Lacey huffed and climbed out from the covers. She paused and stared at her garbage bag full of clothes for a moment, debating whether or not she should change too. 

“Eh,” she decided with a dismissive swat of her hand, and swiped her t-shirt from the night before off of the floor. If they wanted to come pounding on the door and shouting at 10AM, then the fact they they had to see her in nothing but her underwear and a ratty t-shirt was their problem.

“USCIS!” they shouted again. Knocked again.

_ “Coming!” _ Lacey rolled her eyes and headed for the door. With the most irritated face she could muster, she swung it open.

Two people stood before her. A bespectacled man in khakis and a woman in a pantsuit.

“USCIS.” the man said again. “May we come in?”

“I'm sorry,” Lacey yawned. “Wh-who?”

“United States Customs and Immigration Services, ma'am. I'm officer Hopper, and this is officer Mills. We're here to follow up with a Mr Lachlan–” he paused and squinted at his clipboard, “Mc… Mackle–?”

“Uh-huh, yeah,” she nodded. “You've come to the right place.”

“Is Mr… Is he home?”

Lacey grinned and licked her lips.  _ “Indisposed at the moment,” _ she winked. “But yeah.”

Officer Mills rolled her eyes and shoved a piece of paper in Lacey's face. “We have a warrant to take a look around and ask a few questions.”

“...Yeah.” Lacey nodded belatedly.

She was sure she should have at least  _ pretended _ to read the document– but it was early, and letting her eyes glaze over it for two seconds was going to be her personal best for at least the next half hour. 

“Yeah, sure,” Lacey beckoned them in, “ Come on in. He'll be out in sec.” she said, spinning around and heading for the couch.

“Is this a bad time?” officer Mills asked, glancing disapprovingly at her bare legs.

“No! No, not at all! You see, it's his day off,” she dismissed, plopping onto one of the cushions.

The bedroom door swung open, and everyone's heads turned to receive Lachlan as he dragged his feet into the living room.

He'd put a brush through his hair, thrown on some jeans and what Lacey supposed was the least wrinkled shirt he could find– which was the buttoned thing in that really unfortunate green geo print that he'd probably had since around the time R.E.M. first broke Billboard's Alternative charts.

His arms never could fill out the baggy sleeves, and he had it buttoned way up to his chin– which only made him look smaller than usual, if such a thing were even possible.

“Good morning!” Officer Hopper beamed. “Mr… ah...”

_ “MacAldonich.” _ Lachlan said, coming over and giving both of them a firm handshake. “And this is my ah…  _ wife.  _ Lacey.”

Hopper adjusted the thin frames on his glasses and smiled. “Well, we're just here to have a look around and–”

“Aye,” he nodded and took a step back. “Aye, my lawyer said to expect a visit from ye at some point.”

With introductions out of the way, the officers waded deeper into the house. Hopper gave the space a quick glance around, not bothering to inspect anything very closely– But Officer Mills was pacing around the perimeter, her eyes scanning over the walls and shelves, determined to find something.

“...Don't have many family photos, huh?” she asked.

Lacey winced exaggeratedly before either of them could catch the panicked look on Lachlan’s face. “No… I'm afraid family's a bit of a sore subject in this house. You see, Lachy's brother passed away twelve years ago and it just…”

“Oh, I understand,” officer Hopper rushed to assure them.

“We're sorry to hear that,” Mills frowned, but she sounded far from sincere.

“Aye,” Lachlan nodded, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. With nothing else to do or say, he drifted over to the couch and sat beside Lacey. “It was a... shock. It's… been hard.”

_ “So  _ hard,” she agreed, rubbing a hand over his back.

“Heart attack?” Mills prodded.

_ “No.” _ Lachlan furrowed his brows at the tactless question. “...Drug overdose.”

Officer Mills scowled and made an unimpressed sound. She stopped her pacing at one of the doors and looked back at them over her shoulder. “This the bedroom?”

They nodded.

“May I?” she asked, as though  _ no _ was acceptable answer.

“Right ahead,” Lachlan, gesturing limply at the door. 

She slipped inside and Hopper followed after her– pausing at the threshold to turn around and assure them once again, “We’ll just be a moment.”

Lachlan buried his face in his hands, rubbing them over his eyes and groaning.

“What?” Lacey whispered. “Something in there?”

He shrugged and tossed his hand up. “I dunno. Just…” he shrugged again.

Lacey let out a frustrated sigh and got up, marching over to the bedroom and poking her head in.

Once again, Hopper stood uselessly in the middle of the room with his clipboard while Mills scrutinized the clutter on the dresser. With nothing incriminating to be found, she continued her lap around the room.

She stopped abruptly at the closet door, and Lacey swallowed.

Her two garbage bags of clothes sat against the wall, and Mills was peering through the small openings at the top of each one, trying to determine their contents.

“Hopper, what do you make of–”

Lacey cleared her throat loudly.

Cutting herself off, Mills acknowledged Lacey with a stiff smile. Her stare darted back and forth between her eyes, mouth and hands for a second or two.  _ “...Mrs MacAldonich.” _

Lacey was certain that she’d called her that on purpose, to see how she’d react. To see if she’d get the reflexive itch to correct her.

“I was about to put on a pot of tea,” she said, mustering her poker face. “Might either of you–”

Mills pursed her lips. “No, thank you.”

“We’ll only be a few minutes,” Hopper said again, and Lacey fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Excuse me–” Mills said. “Is this… a garbage bag of your clothes, m'am?” she asked, pointing with her pen.

“Those… are  _ donations.” _ Lacey lied. “You know how it is,” she chuckled weakly, leaning casually against the door frame. “You bag 'em up and they sit around for  _ months _ before you finally schlep it all over to Goodwill, right?”

Hopper scoffed. “Yeah, I hear you. I've had a bag in my trunk since March.”

“Yeah…” Lacey relaxed a little bit. “Can't say we can afford that luxury around here. The hubby's gotta use his truck for work on the farm up the road, so… you know,” she shrugged. “Best to keep it in here until we can make the trip into town.  _ One _ of these days we'll remember to take it along.”

Mills gave a stiff  _ hm _ and stepped over to the bed, studying the items on the nightstand. Something seemed to catch her eye, and she knit her brows.

There wasn't anything interesting on the nightstand as far as Lacey could tell, but then Mills hunched over for a better look– and it wasn't what was  _ on _ the nightstand, no. It was what was on the floor  _ next _ to it.

Two spent condoms.

“Oops. I’m afraid that's uh... my fault,” Lacey chuckled. “See, Lachy's the type who likes to clean up right away, but I don't know… I just really wanted to cuddle last night.”

Mills stood back up and forced another cold smile. “How wonderful for you,” she grumbled. “I believe we’re done in here,” she announced over her shoulder. “Hopper?”

He raised his brows as if seeking her permission, and nodded.

The two of them took far less interest in the rest of the house. After poking their heads into the bathroom and a quick pass through the kitchen, Hopper informed them that they just had a few questions– just a few more minutes– and so Lachlan had brought out two chairs from the kitchen so they could all have a “quick chat” in the living room.

It seemed that the reins had been handed to Hopper for the interview. He sifted through his files in silence for a minute while Mills’ eyes furtively continued their search for any red flags, and cleared his throat.

“So it says you've been married since…”

“‘05.” Lacey smiled, sliding her hand over Lachlan’s. “So… six wonderful, wonderful years, it's been.”

“Aye.” he nodded, scooting closer to her.

“Well, congratulations,” Hopper said, and he even sounded like he meant it. “How long have you known each other? Prior to–”

“We met that night, actually.” Lacey blurted. Sure, the fact was suspicious, but it  _ was  _ true. Might as well own it. “It's… kind of a funny story?”

Officer Mills arched a brow. “You married the night you first met?”

“Well,  _ technically, _ we didn't make it to the chapel until  _ 2am _ , so…”

“The night  _ before,” _ Lachlan clarified.

“You know what they say,” Lacey shrugged. “When you know, you know. Isn't that right, baby?” she cooed, hooking an arm around his and smiling up at him.

Hopper tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “And how exactly… did the two of you meet?”

Lachlan stammered. “Ah…”

_ He was making this harder than it needed to be, _ Lacey thought. They could ask all the nosey questions they wanted about how they got married. That was the only part of this whole thing that was legit.

“I was at one of his concerts.” Lacey swept in. “It was back when he was promoting his solo album? We met backstage and just…” she trailed off, looking up at him and releasing a wistful sigh.

Catching on, Lachlan slipped into his part too. He smiled down at her and brushed his thumb over her knuckles where they held hands. “...Really hit it off,” he finished.

_ “Electric.” _ Lacey told them. “And in that moment, I just knew…” She sighed and brought a hand up to stroke Lachlan's hair. “You were the man for me.”

Officer Mills cleared her throat. “I'm sorry… one of your  _ concerts?” _ she asked skeptically. “And a  _ solo album,  _ you said?”

_ “He's EB-1A,” _ Hopper reminded her, mumbling discreetly in her ear.

“Oh really?” She narrowed her eyes at them. “Those aren’t easy to get.”

“Aye, that's right,” Lachlan nodded. “Wouldn't think it to look at me now, eh?” he chuckled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

Officer Mills’ eyes flicked down to the documents in Hopper’s lap. “...huh.” She blinked. “Certainly explains the…” she trailed off, gesturing at the wall of records and neglected guitar equipment. “Do you still play?”

“No,” he shook his head, but immediately stiffened. “I-is… that a problem? For the… type of green card I–”

“No, no...” they both assured him at once.

“Rest of the old band went back home  _ years _ ago,” Lachlan said, “but ah… well, I've got all the reason I need to stay right  _ here,” _ he smiled, wrapping an arm around Lacey's shoulders before giving her an affectionate little squeeze and a kiss on the temple.

“Aw, Lachy… you  _ charmer!” _ she gushed, pecking him on the cheek. “So sweet. ...Isn't he sweet?” she asked the two of them.

Officer Hopper gave a tight-lipped smile. “So… you would be able to produce a uh… certificate of marriage, then?”

Lachlan’s eyebrows shot upwards. “...Aye. Aye, I've got it with the rest of it all,” he said, getting up. “Passport, birth certificate…”

He slipped into the bedroom then, leaving Lacey alone on the couch– and she didn’t remember feeling so intimidated by them earlier, when they were just standing on the porch waiting to come in, or searching for evidence of fraud they weren’t going to find.

Lacey stared out the window through the blinds, as though something had caught her eye.

“Do  _ you _ work?” officer Mills asked.

Lacey's eyes shot open. “Excuse me?”

“Do you work,” she asked again. “Or have any other source of income separate from your… husband's?”

“Oh.” Lacey swallowed and begin worrying the hem of her shirt. “Uh… I'm… kinda between things?”

Hopper scoot forward in his seat. “Could you elaborate on that a bit?” he asked, readying his pen.

“...Yeah. Yeah, of course, uh… I was working as a bartender downtown for a while, but–”

“Downtown?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

“Los Angeles is one hell of a commute from here,” Mills observed.

Lacey hesitated, then smacked her lips. “...Which is  _ exactly _ why I quit.”

Mills leaned back in her seat. _ “Hm.” _

“I’ve actually been using the time to pursue my uh… dream.” Lacey explained. “As an… auto mechanic.”

“Oh,” Hopper sounded surprised, but he at least seemed satisfied with her answer.

Lacey nodded and righted her posture. “Yeah. Yeah, restoring classic stuff, mostly.”

“That a Camaro you got outside?” he asked.

“It… Sure is.” she said, her head still bobbing up and down dumbly.

“Beautiful car,” he smiled. “What year? ‘85? ‘86?”

“Eighty-four.”

“An old buddy of mine used to drive one of those,” he said. “What's wrong with it?”

“Vapor lock. Won't start.”

“That's a shame. How do you fix that?”

“Uh…” she began rubbing her hands over her thighs, and tried to think. She knew the answer, she'd done the repair only yesterday– but the words were buried away somewhere she couldn't find them. “Well, um… it–”

Lachlan came to her rescue then, returning from the bedroom with a handful of paperwork. “Got that marriage certificate right here…” he said, handing it to Mills and sitting back down. He draped an arm around Lacey's shoulders for what she knew was probably just appearances– but the calming effect it had on her was definitely real.

Mills and Hopper studied the document together for a moment, her eyes more cautious than her partner's.

“...Yes, well… this all looks to be in order,” she said, putting on a smile and handing it back. “Thank you.”

“Anything else we can help you with?” Lachlan asked.

They looked down at their notes for what felt like an eternity, then back at each other, before exchanging a series of raised eyebrows, shrugs, and nods. Finally, officer Hopper slouched and cleared his throat. He looked up at them with a uncomfortable smile that made Lacey feel nervous again.

“Now according to our records, you've each been living at separate addresses?” he asked, nudging his glasses further up his nose.

“Oh, no,” Lacey chuckled. “You see, Lachy and I had a bit of a falling out for a while– happens to the best of us, right?”

“Almost divorced,” he chimed in. “She ah… moved out to live with her friend. For a time.”

“That’s right.” Lacey confirmed. “Anyway, I've been… terribly remiss about updating my information.”

Mills clicked her tongue. “Says you've been living at an address in downtown Los Angeles for the past  _ seven years. _ Mrs MacAldonich.”

_ “It’s French,”  _ Lacey blurted. “Never did ah… change the name,” she explained, and she noticed herself starting to fidget again. “But gosh. Has it been that long?”

Hopper pressed his lips into a thin line. “You do  _ realize  _ it's unlawful to carry an ID with–”

“You're right!” she cut in before he could finish. “And I am  _ so _ sorry about that.”

Mills was watching with enjoyment as she began to squirm, but then Lachlan’s grip tightened around her.

“Ye know, she'd forget her own heid if it weren't screwed on so tight.” he chuckled, rubbing his hand over her arm and leaning over to press another quick kiss to her temple. “My forgetful little–”

Someone’s phone began to ring, and Mills sighed in annoyance, digging her cell out of her pocket. Frowning at the screen, she stood up.

“Excuse me, I have to take this,” she said, and all three of them watched silently while she stepped outside.

The room shared a collective sigh of relief when the door clicked shut– even officer Hopper seeming to feel more at ease in his partner's absence.

“Mrs French? MacAldonich?”

“Mhm?”

“It says on your application that you have a father, Maurice French, who is dependent on you for medical care.”

“Yup,” Lacey nodded. “Old Moe.”

“Well, we found two…” he hesitated, tilting his head from side to side, “ _ discrepancies  _ with that information, which... I was hoping you could clear up for us today.”

“Yeah?”

“The first is that we couldn’t find any record of a Maurice French living in California.”

“Oh. Well, of course not.” Lacey shrugged. “He’s in Maine. Refuses to leave the old house, you know? But um… I still help make all his doctor’s appointments and manage… all that… sort of thing… visit him… and stuff.”

Hopper sighed and returned a pained smile. “Well, you see… We did some digging and we  _ were  _ able to find a Maurice French in Storybrooke, Maine. But ah… he um… well, he passed away three years ago.”

“Oh.”

"Judging by the look on your face, I gather this is new information to you?”

Lacey felt the color drain from her face, and Lachlan's hand tighten around hers– but everything else seemed to swirl away into black and nothingness.

“There's no delicate way to say this, but… we cannot move forward with processing your application given the… inaccurate information you've provided.” Hopper explained, his voice hitting her ears like a faint echo from somewhere in the black. “That being said, I... understand the… gravity of any deportation case, and if you'd like to er,  _ try again,  _ well… it wouldn't be the first time an application has… gotten lost in the mail, so to speak. We can pretend this uh… never happened.”

“Understood.” Lachlan nodded. “Thank you.”

“Well, we'll… head off then. Give you two some time to…” he trailed off, getting up and collecting his things.

“How?” Lacey asked.

Hopper froze.

“How did he die?” she asked again. “Was it–” she paused and took a deep breath, looking down at her lap and grabbing a fistful of her shirt. “Did he do it to himself?”

Hopper stepped over and crouched down, resting a hand on her arm. “There wasn’t anything in the report to indicate that. Cause of death was listed as cardiac arrest.”

Lacey took another deep breath. “Okay,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

“Terribly sorry for your loss,” he said softly, giving her arm a light squeeze.

He lingered a moment longer before getting up and continuing on his way, the front door giving a little  _ click _ behind him when he left.

Lachlan scoot closer and wrapped an arm around her. “Lace? Are you alright?”

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

“Lace, I'm so sorry.”


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.

Lacey anxiously tapped the her cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, watching and waiting for the bartender to get her her next drink.

She should be more upset. Devastated. Crying.

But instead she just felt angry. Pissed off.

“My dad's been fucking  _ dead _ for three years and not only did I have no idea, but now that I do? I don't even care,” she said, taking a long drag while her foot tapped restlessly on the railing. “I'm more upset about being caught in a lie than I am about my dad being dead. What the  _ fuck _ kind of person does that make me?”

Lachlan shrugged. “Eh. You lose touch with people. It doesnae hurt so much.”

“You were right,” she laughed emptily. “You said I was a heartless cunt, and you were right.”

“Look. You're no’ a heartless cunt. You had a shite da and you don't miss him. Canny blame you for that.”

The bartender set down her drink, and she immediately took two heavy swigs.

“He wasn't  _ shite.”  _ Lacey muttered.

Their relationship had always been somewhat stilted. She never could talk to her father the way she could with her mother. Whatever interest he expressed in her hobbies, Lacey could tell was feigned. A formality. He’d wanted to be the father to a big, strong boy, after all. Her books and pretend play of being a brave princess were no match for things like Thursday Night Football or playing catch with the neighbor’s kid.

Until around puberty, of course– when suddenly he had all kinds of strong opinions about who and what she ought to be. It was an impossible balance of being sexy but not sleazy, smart but not intimidating, funny but never indecent, one of the guys but always a lady– and eager for his approval as she was, Lacey had done her best to jump through every hoop.

She’d gotten close– so close to the ‘perfect young woman’ he wanted her to be– before mom got sick.

There’d been a surge of fierce overprotectiveness at first. But slowly, over the following year, he’d gone back to not caring.

Not caring about her.

Not caring about anything.

“He was just… a normal dad,” Lacey said. “Annoying _ pain in my ass–  _ but he wasn't  _ shite.” _

Lachlan scoffed and took another sip of his drink. “You're no’ heartless.” he said again. “You've got… a big heart, I think.”

Lacey rolled her eyes.

“No, no– listen,” he said. “If you really  _ were _ a heartless cunt, you wouldnae be so upset right now.”

“I’m upset that this stupid plan didn’t work!” she snipped. “Lying and bullshitting people is what I  _ do. _ You know? I just thought… for  _ once–” _ she cut herself off and shook her head, picking her drink back up for another swig.

“...thought what?”

“I don’t know!” she said, slamming the glass back down. “That I could just... be fucking  _ useful  _ for once.”

Lacey stared at her whiskey, her leg continuing to bounce on the foot railing.

_ Dead, _ was all she could think.  _ Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. _

Lachlan’s hand rested on her back, rubbing warm little circles into her shirt. She concentrated on the sensation, counting the ups the downs to herself, and could feel the tightness in her chest begin to lift away.

“It was three days before I cried over Jed, ye know?” he said. “I wis just… in denial. Didn't wanna believe it.”

Lacey’s leg stopped bouncing, and she sighed.

“But you know, the day you left…” he continued, “I remember that day.”

She scoffed and ground her spent cigarette into the ashtray.  _ “Do _ you?”

“Aye, I do.” he nodded. “Those things I said to you, Lace. That wasn't the drink talking. That was me.”

Lacey snorted and took a swig of her drink. “Gee, thanks,” she said. “That supposed to make me feel  _ better?” _

“That's no’ what I mean. I mean… I was a coward, you know? You… you wanted to talk but I was afraid to, so I screamed at you instead because that was easier. Easier to push ye away.”

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes. “I know how that is.”

“You… you  _ cared. _ You–” he sighed. “Look. I'm no’ saying that things would've worked out, but… You  _ tried? _ You actually tried to… give our  _ ridiculous _ marriage a proper go.”

The tightness clutched Lacey's chest again. 

_ Ridiculous marriage. _

She knew it had been a long shot. Ill-advised. But it meant something to her. It had meant something to her then, and it meant even more to her now– though she wasn’t sure why.

“Because I was young and stupid,” she said. “And now I’m thirty years old and  _ still _ fucking stupid.”

“No. Because you have a heart, Lacey. I know, 'cause you showed it to me that day. And it was so big, that it terrified me, a’right?”

_ “Please _ ,” she snorted. “My heart’s about the size of a goddamn pinhead.”

He wagged a finger at her, the curve of his mouth tugging into a knowing grin. “I remember what  _ you _ said too, you know.”

Lacey's throat went dry– because she, too, could remember what she said. She took a long sip of her drink. “What? The part where I called you a washed up loser? Or are you thinking of the  _ other _ part, where I called you a pathetic excuse for a man and to go fuck yourself?”

Lachlan scoffed. “Oh, I remember  _ all of it. _ Every word. And that's how I know: Lacey French has a heart the size of a bloody whale.” He pressed two fingers to her chest, using enough force that she almost lost her balance on the barstool.

She relaxed a bit, grateful he didn't repeat the other _ other  _ part. “You're drunk, Lachy.”

“No, I'm… buzzed,” he smiled. “which you should know, is when I'm the most honest.”

Lacey frowned.

Alcohol didn’t make him more honest. It made him more angry. Made him defensive. Made him scared. More him careless, ugly, and hurtful.

She wasn't sure what it made her. But maybe that was for the best.

They’d had good times at bars and clubs, of course. Woken up the next day not knowing  _ what _ they did– just that it was fun.

But looking back, those weren’t Lacey’s favorite moments. Her favorite moments– the ones where their ridiculous marriage didn’t feel so ridiculous after all– were the ones that _ weren’t _ drowned in jagerbombs and shots of whisky. Her favorite moments were the ones where she could feel the burden of the perfect woman– and angry, hurt, jaded person who guarded the girl behind her like a dragon– lift away

“We should go home,” Lacey said. “Before you get plastered.”

“I'm no’ gonna get plastered. I'm pacing myself, a’right?”

“Yeah, see  _ that's _ the drink talking, buddy,” she chuckled and pat him on the back. “Come on. I'm cuttin’ you off.”

  
  
  


*****

  
  


_ Six years ago _

 

Lacey always imagined that if she ever married a rockstar, it would be fun. Endless parties, wild sex, lots of glamour.

And it was. For a little while.

The two of them could get into the VIP section of any club they cared to go to– through a friend of a friend, an owner who was buddies with his promoter from way back when, or a bouncer who was a big fan. Lachlan had the kind of personality people flocked around, and that put Lacey at the heart of all the excitement. She’d be surrounded by the beautiful, the wealthy, the in-crowd, and after a few shots, she could  _ really  _ shine.

But now, those nights were few and far between. More and more, Lachlan was content to stay at home in bed, nursing a bottle of whisky until he passed out cold. He’d manage to drag himself out of bed from time to time for a trip to the bathroom (to throw up) or the kitchen (to get another drink)– but when she dared to complain she was bored, he’d grumble dismissively about how she had a car and knew how to get around herself. And  _ please, if you could, pick me up another bottle. _

Lacey paused once she reached the front door of the house, hesitant to step inside. There was getting to be something uncomfortable about seeing Lachlan. Something pitiful. Being hungover well into the afternoon just wasn’t  _ them. _ That was for lightweights, people who couldn’t keep up, who didn’t know how to  _ really  _ party. The only alternative was that you had a problem.

She sighed and thrust the door open.

As long as she made it to her shift on time, it wasn’t a problem– it was just a lifestyle.

"I’m home!” Lacey hollered as she stepped inside. “Your ass better’ve done the dishes, Lachy.”

She deposited her keys by the door, and when he didn't greet her with an, _ “oh, fuck off!” _ she knew something was wrong.

She waded into the living room and found the bastard passed out on the couch. Beside him on the floor was an empty bottle, and on his lap– the sleeve for  _ Bank Street Waltz _ . The record itself sat still on the turntable, the tonearm raised up as if waving for help.

Lacey dropped her purse to the ground.

_ “Shit.”  _

She rushed over and knelt beside him, wetting her lips.

“Lachlan.” she whispered– because maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked.  _ “Lachlan.” _

She turned his face toward her– and nausea wrenched her gut when she found his cheek cold and clammy. She tried to swallow the sick feeling, but her throat felt so small and her insides so frozen. 

She had to pull her hand away.

“Lachlan, baby, w-wake up,” she pleaded as her heart began pounding against her ribcage.  _ “Please?” _

She hesitated before giving him a round of quick pats to the face. Lightly at first– then harder, more urgently. “Come on...” her voice cracked. 

When he didn't respond, she tried a proper slap across the face.

Still nothing.

“God  _ dammit!” _ Lacey choked out a sob buried her face in her hands. She took a few deep breaths, because this couldn't be happening. Not now, not to her.

But it was.

She grabbed him by the shoulders. Shook him. “Come on, asshole!  _ Wake _ up!” she begged again, her throat tight and and her voice shrill. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

He slumped back as she'd found him, dead weight.

Lacey's chin wobbled with all the furious tears she was trying so hard to hold back. She swallowed them and took a deep breath.

_ Stay calm. _

_ Was he dead? _

She forced herself to look and not touch, and the hardly perceptible rise and fall of his chest said  _ no. _

He sputtered then, starting to gag, and she flinched back, clamping a hand over her mouth.

“Oh, fuck.” Lacey jumped to her feet, hooked her arms under his, and with a strength that belied her tiny frame, began pulling him upright.

“Come on.  _ Asshole,” _ she grunted as he continued dry heaving, and no sooner than she sat him up did it finally erupt from his lips, covering his shirt in foamy, yellow vomit. She groaned and wrinkled her nose, the pungent odor burning her eyes and making her gag. Some of it had sprayed onto her hands, but there wasn't any time to worry about that when Lachlan was choking.

Terrible sounds were coming from his throat, and she coaxed him to roll over to the edge of the couch. “Over here, baby. Come on.”

He sputtered and threw up again, over the carpet, before collapsing back onto the couch– this time safely on his side.

Lacey sat and watched him for a long while, on and off the verge of tears, before finally tucking a pillow behind him and leaving the room.

She was tired, but she couldn’t sleep.

She was hungry, but couldn’t eat.

She wanted a drink, but given the circumstances, couldn’t bring herself to pour one.

So she sat in the kitchen with a carton of cigarettes, smoking one after another and dreading hour Lachlan woke up. She couldn’t sit still for long though, and soon began pacing around the house, gathering all the empty bottles she could find. In the bedroom, in the living room. Abandoned on the countertops and on the floor– no longer of any interest once their reserves had been tapped dry. A few she could remember having polished off herself, and shame filled her stomach.

She lined them up, all in a row on the kitchen counter. A few bottles still had a shot or two's worth of whisky left, so she dumped them down the sink, because he didn't need it.

Lacey spun around, and her eyes landed on the liquor cabinet on the far side of the kitchen.

Lachlan didn't need  _ any _ of it.

She did the dishes after that, finding a comfort in the normalcy and domesticity of it that she never had before. But soon she was finished, and Lacey knew he'd be up soon. She sat back at the table and lit another cigarette.

It was around dinner time when Lachlan finally dragged his feet into the kitchen. He walked right past her, as if she wasn't even there, and opened the liquor cabinet.

Her body stilled as he looked inside, and she swallowed her breaths, because maybe she didn't  _ want _ him to know she was there.

His finger tapped on the edge of door, and he released a slow sigh.

“Where is it?” he asked, in a clipped, impatient tone that told her he was very much aware of her presence.

Lacey swallowed. “Where's what?” she asked innocently.

“My whisky.”

She ran a sweaty hand through her hair and looked away, hooking a finger on her necklace. “I threw it out.”

He looked over his shoulder at her.  _ “What?” _

“I poured it down the sink,” she said as firmly as she could manage, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Why'd ye do a thing like that?” he asked calmly, but Lacey could feel the anger boiling beneath it.

“Because. You've had enough.”

“Ye gonna pay for that?”

Her knee began to bounce nervously. “If I have to.” she said. “But if you buy another, I'll just dump that one too.”

He wet his lips and clicked his tongue. Let out a humorless laugh as he turned to face her.

Lacey took a deep breath and lifted her chin, ignoring the turbulence in her stomach. “We need to talk, Lachy.” 

“About what?”

Trembling, Lacey stood up and crossed over to the counter, gesturing at the row of empty bottles she'd collected.  _ “This,  _ Lachlan. _ ” _

He shrugged. “What?”

The indifference of his response sent a chill over Lacey’s body. Her stomach soured with a mixture of fear, disappointment, disbelief, and embarrassment that curdled into red hot anger.

“What the  _ fuck _ is wrong with you!?” Lacey shouted through a burst of tears. “You’d be fucking  _ dead _ right now if I hadn't come home when I did, and the first thing you do is look for  _ more!?” _

His lips pressed into a thin line and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Well, maybe ye should've just fucking let me die, eh?” he said. “It’s what I fucking deserve, innit?”

The coldness in his voice seemed to mock her, and those words–  _ just let me die _ . She'd driven three thousand miles to never have to hear those words again.

“No,” Lacey shook her head. “No, you don't mean that.”

“Tell me. Why are you even here?” he asked.

“...Because,” she answered weakly. “I love you. And I don't wanna lose you.” 

Her pulse pounded in her ears at the admission, and she had to look away from him. There was silence, and her heart felt as though it might rupture in her chest.

_ “...Love _ me?” he scoffed. “You think you fucking  _ love _ me?”

Lacey winced and shrunk back, still unable to meet his gaze.

“You're just a stupid groupie,” he said. “Fucking delusional, alright?” 

“Shut up.”

“No, listen–” Lachlan pointed a finger at her. “You've got one bloody job, and it sure as  _ fuck _ isnae telling me what to do!” he shouted.

“Shut up!” Lacey snapped. She grabbed one of the empty bottles and hurled it at the tile floor in front of him. He flinched back as it smashed to pieces.

Shaking his head, he tutted at her. “Honestly. What the  _ fuck _ are you still following me around for, Lacey?”

“Shut up!” she screamed, and threw another.

“Don't you get it?” he asked quietly. “I'm done. I'm nothing. I'm nobody.”

“No, you're not!” she shouted. “But you  _ will _ be if I find you  _ dead _ in a pool of your own  _ vomit _ tomorrow, you fucking asshole!”

“Why not?” he shrugged. “All the greats did it, eh? Jimi, Bonzo…” he trailed off. “Haven’t you heard? Everybody loves ye when you're dead!”

“That's not love,” Lacey said, her cheeks burning at the word. “That's _pity._ But I guess you're right– because you _do_ deserve a shit-ton of that, don’t you!?” she snapped. “Fucking _look_ at yourself! You're fucking pathetic! When's the last time you wrote something, Lachy? Hm? Last time you _touched_ a guitar?”

“Is that what you thought wis gonnae happen?” he laughed. “That you'd be my muse or some shite? That maybe I'd write a new single about ye, so you can have your fifteen minutes of fame?”

Clenching her jaw, Lacey lowered her head and focused her fevered gaze on the floor. She took a slow breath, clinging to what brittle composure she had left.

“‘Cause here's a newsflash for you, Lacey: I'm no’ making any comeback. It's all downhill from here, and–”

“You think I give a  _ shit _ about that!?” she yelled. “You think that's why I'm here!?”

Lachlan scoffed. “That's all any of ye give a rat’s arse about, innit?”

Lacey let out another scream and sent four more bottles crashing onto the floor.

“Oh, that's a  _ real  _ fucking mature display right there, Lace.” he scoffed.

She stopped and fumed, blood boiling at the fact that he was right.

“...fuckin’ psychotic cunt.”

Lace’s knees felt weak, and she had to fight the urge to shrink away so that she could look him in the eyes one last time. “No.” she said evenly. “What I give a rat's ass about, Lachlan, is  _ you. _ ” 

He opened his mouth to say something smart, but cut himself off. “Fucking… fuck this,” he finally mumbled, shaking his head and staggering back to the den.

“Yeah. Fucking walk away,” she muttered after him with a quivering chin and shaking hands.

Waiting until his footsteps fell out of earshot, Lacey slumped against the wall and withered onto the floor. She kept a hand clamped over her mouth, hating the pathetic sounds that were begging to come out.

The thought came to her then–  _ What would mom think, to look at you now?  _ Would she be proud?

The hand on her mouth shakily descended to the pendant on her neck. Cowering against the wall, Lacey let herself cry. Cry until her eyelids were red and puffy and sore from the incessant sting of tears. Cried until there weren’t any left.

By the time she pulled herself back up to her feet, the sun had set, leaving the house in darkness. Wrapping her arms around herself, Lacey stepped out of the kitchen, stopping in the doorway when she found him back on the couch. He sat hunched over, elbows on his knees and head and in his hands, rubbing his face.

She sniffed and rubbed at her nose, and he looked up at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. He seemed to have calmed down though, so she came over and took the seat beside him.

She should have left, but she couldn't bring herself to. There was a part of her that wanted to try again. That wanted to make things better. That  _ loved _ him– even if she wasn’t sure why.

Lacey tentatively rested a hand on his back, and when he didn't pull away, began rubbing him in soothing little circles.

“I know you're hurting, baby.” she said, tucking his hair behind his ear. “We can talk about it. About Jed.”

He shrugged her off. “Don't.”

Lacey rolled her eyes. “Lachy,  _ please. _ What happened to Jed was–”

“Don't you fucking say his name, alright!?” he spit back with venom. “You don't know  _ shite _ about Jed!”

Lacey looked up at the ceiling, her breaths growing quicker, and beginning to race out of control. “You know what?” she said, leaning into his space, “You're right.  _ I don't.” _

His lip twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

“I don't know  _ jack shit _ about Jed. I thought I at least knew  _ you, _ but I guess that was just me being a _ delusional fucking groupie _ again, huh?” She stood up and scowled down at him. “So go ahead. Go ahead and fucking drink yourself to death, because I'm fucking over it, okay? I'm over cleaning up some fucking washed up loser's vomit every goddamned morning. I'm over going to bed every night with some pathetic excuse for a man who can't even get it up anymore because he's too fucking plastered to fuck his wife. I'm over playing nurse every time you get a fucking migraine because you had too much to drink. Just… Go fuck yourself, Lachlan. Because I'm over this. I'm over you and your bullshit.”


	13. Chapter 12

Lacey stood in the living room, waiting for him to return from the bathroom with a nervous smile she couldn't quite suppress.

Over the short drive home from the bar, all she could think about were the  _ good _ times they used to have. The late mornings they'd spend cleaning up the need from the night before, while the sounds of Bowie, or Bolan, or the Beatles filled the apartment. How they'd get distracted and just end up dancing together instead. How giggly and _ happy _ she'd feel while they danced their way back into bed.

She was ready to feel happy again.

Lacey heard the door crack open, and she pressed her lips together. Not sure what to do with her hands, she let one arm hang at her side while the other crossed over her chest, thumb rubbing into the pulse point at her elbow.

Lachlan paused by the door, brows knitting together as he recognized the music playing.

“What's this you've got on?” he asked anyway, and a little smile played at his lips.

Lacey shifted on her feet, once, twice, before walking over to him.  _ “Aladdin Sane. _ We used to dance to this one all the time,” she said, taking his hand. “Remember?”

His smile widened, but remained tight-lipped, and he nodded. “I do.”

She lured him over to the record player so she could raise the volume, unable to help the rhythmic little sway of her hips as she did so.

He was hesitant to join her, and Lacey could admit to feeling a little silly herself– but halfway through side one they’d gotten past the awkwardness and it all felt the way it used to. Shaking hips and snapping fingers. Silly faces made as they mouthed choruses and the snorts of laughter that followed.

It was an offhand comment about Mick Ronson’s guitar work that gave Lacey the idea, and when side two finished playing, she nodded toward the acoustic guitar in the corner.

Lachlan curled into himself, knowing what was coming next.

“Play something,” she said.

He carded a hand through his hair and sighed. “No, I-I don't do that anymore.”

“Why not?” she asked. She already _ knew _ of course; but why couldn't he just _ say it? _

He shook his head. “I just don't.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That's not a reason, Lachy.”

His cheeks grew a little pink, and the bit of color looked so good on him, she thought. “I just don't, a’right?”

She pouted. “Not even for me?”

He smiled and tilted his head at her.

“You should at least tune it,” Lacey said. “Who knows– maybe I want to play  _ you _ something,” she winked.

“Oh?” He teased, “has someone been practicing?”

Lacey snorted. _ “Hell, no!” _

Lachlan glanced over his shoulder at his guitar, then back at her. “Alright,” he shrugged. “I'll tune it for you. I expect one hell of a performance, though.”

Lacey rolled her eyes, smiling as she watched him walk over to the guitar. He hesitated a long moment, and her heart skipped a beat when he finally reached out and picked it up.

He slowly plucked at each of the strings, their pitch climbing upwards little by little as he tightened them. He gave all six a final strum, and they rang out harmoniously, the low E bellowing out longer than the others.

“Alright,” he held it out to her, “Let's hear it.”

Fighting back a smile, Lacey took the guitar from him and got comfortable on the couch. It felt so much bigger and more intimidating than she remembered, and her fingers lightly brushed against the strings, not quite ready to pluck or strum or play anything yet.

With her left hand, she began stretching her fingers into place on the fretboard with uncertainty. She slouched her shoulders and sighed.

“This is a G _ , _ right?” she asked, darting a pointed glance where she was fingering the chord.

Lachlan chuckled and nodded. “Aye. That's a G.”

“Okay, good,” she giggled, and strummed a few times before fingering the next chord and looking back to him for approval again.

“That's D…” he nodded slowly.

“And…” Lacey repositioned her fingers. “C?”

“Perfect. Now let's see the G again.”

She hung her head and groaned. “Don't make fun!”

“I'm not making fun!” He laughed. “That's the progression!” he said, shifting closer to her. “So what are you gonna play?”

Lacey scowled at him.

“...Pearl Jam?” he guessed. “Pink Floyd? The Monkees?”

“Shut up!”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, swatting his hand through the air. “No rush, take your time.”

Lacey looked back down at her fingers and hesitated. Her pulse was heavy and thick in her chest, and maybe she  _ should _ just play the fucking Beatles or something.

She began to strum up and down in a steady rhythm, clumsily transitioning between the chords, again and again and again as she warmed up. It was taking longer than she'd hoped, and Lachlan wrinkled his brows in baffled anticipation. The smirk on his face told her that he was itching to make a quip, and she started to laugh, glad that whatever he was thinking, he was keeping it to himself.

She shifted the rhythm of her strumming then, switching chords more quickly, until the song began to take shape. 

Lachlan's smile slipped away then, and his eyes became fixed blankly on the sound hole. Whatever intention Lacey originally had to sing evaporated– but she kept playing, and he kept listening, his fingers pressed to his lips.

The last chord rang out, and Lacey’s heart pounded the longer he sat still as stone.

She wet her lips. “I um… I taught myself that when I was fifteen,” she said to fill the silence.

“Why?” he asked– and she could tell by the frailty of his voice and the pain in his eyes, what he was really asking. Not  _ why did you teach yourself that?, _ but  _ why are you doing this to me? _

“I taught myself  _ all  _ the songs on that album,” she told him, feeling a proud smile spread across her face despite the somberness in the air.

He looked away, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Look,” Lacey reach for his hand, “You might not be on any top 100 lists in some rock magazine, or…  _ whatever.”  _ she shrugged. “But… you inspired me to pick up a guitar once? That's gotta count for something, right?”

“You don't play  _ now,” _ he deflected.

Lacey scoffed. “Well, I wasn’t very good, as you can tell,” she said, nibbling her lip. It was so much easier, so much more automatic, to ease the tension with self-deprecation. But she hadn’t played that song to show off, or to flatter him. She was asking him to  _ feel, _ and that was no small favor.

“My um… my mom died in ‘96," she said. “I kinda stopped caring about a  _ lot _ of things after that. Because it was easier. Easier to shut down.”

He sighed and closed his eyes, nodding slightly.

Lacey gently rested the guitar against the side of the couch, the hollow body thumping as it made contact with the floor. “When's the last time you played?” she asked, turning to face him head-on.

“Since we were together.”

“Don't you ever… get the urge to, though? To make music again?” she asked. “I mean, you started playing when  _ you _ were fifteen, right? Was a part of your life for–”

“Of course I do,” he said. “But I'm afraid.”

She took his hand again, rubbing her thumb over his wrist. “Afraid of what?”

“How it might feel.”

“You never know,” she gave him a little squeeze. “It  _ could _ feel amazing.”

He shook his head. “I can't.”

Lacey gave him an understanding smile and got up, carrying the guitar back over to its stand. “What should we listen to next? “ she asked, pacing along the wall of records. “Elton John? Mott the Hoople? ...The Jam?”

“Whatever you want, Lace.”

She wandered to the other end of the shelves, to where Jed’s albums were. She dragged her fingers along the edges of the sleeves and slid one of them out– the same one as the night she’d moved in. 

_ Brotherhood. _

“How about some New Order?” she asked over her shoulder, watching for his reaction.

He tilted his head at it and managed a weak smile. “That one was his favorite.”

“Then we should play it,” she said. “For Jed.”

He drew a deep breath, turning away in hesitation.

“You know–” Lacey shrugged. “Like pourin’ one out. Only instead of booze, it’ll be some kick-ass Stephen Morris beats.”

He looked back to her and nodded. “Sure,” he said, gesturing toward the turntable.

Lacey bounced on her toes in triumph and skipped across the room, record in hand. “Alright, Jed–” she spoke to the room as she loaded it onto the turntable. “This one's for you, buddy.”

The opening track began to play, and the danceable rhythm seemed so incongruous to the closed-off man sitting on the couch. Lacey sat down beside him, rubbing a hand over his back. His breath hitched, and what she thought was a smothered cry was actually a small chuckle.

“He used to play this all the time,” his voice cracked. “I had a shift at the grocer’s, and when I'd come home, climbing the steps up to our flat, I could hear it through the walls. Just the bass at first, you know? And the other parts… They’d come in as I got closer.”

Lacey huffed out a little laugh through her nose.

“You’d open the door, and–” he made an explosive gesture with his hands, “it’d hit you, you know?”

“Your neighbors must have  _ loved  _ you,” she teased gently.

“No,” Lachlan sighed fondly, shaking his head. “No, that was it– half the building was kids just like us. Runaways chasing a dream, you know? Sometimes he’d be dancin’ by himself... Other times he’d be sat with Raff, and they’d be picking the songs apart, studying the drum tracks together. I’d come in, and he’d say–” Lachlan inhaled sharply and clamped his hand over his mouth, swallowing to compose himself. _ “Oh, good,”  _ he croaked,  _ “You’re home. There’s something I wanna hear you play.” _

He was silent for a moment, and wiped his eyes. “He could play it just fine himself, you know? But he’d tell the guys, ‘no, no… I wanna hear it the way  _ Lachy  _ plays it,” he said with a watery laugh. “I bet  _ nobody _ can play it the way  _ Lachy _ 'll play it.” 

He went quiet after that, and he sat back, eyes still cast downward in private reflection. Lacey watched him with a wan smile, rubbing his arm– and when the time came, got up and wordlessly flipped the record to play the other side.

She glanced back over her shoulder at him and made another pass at the shelves, trying to give him some space. After gathering a handful of albums that caught her interest, she sat on the floor before the couch to admire them.

Her eyes merely glazed over the sleeves, though.

Lachlan had never told her a  _ single _ anecdote about Jed before, and the small details he'd just shared already painted so much more of a picture than any number of magazine articles or interviews ever could.

He loved his big brother, and his big brother loved him.

She knew this, of course. Of course they loved each other. But the  _ way _ they loved– that was knew information that made her smile.

Lacey put the record aside, and moved onto the next.

“Would it be pathetic to say that you're my best friend?” Lachlan asked.

Lacey looked up at him where he sat on the couch. “Probably. You've got really bad taste in people,” she laughed.

But Lachlan didn't laugh. He stayed silent, and in the absence of their joking and teasing and banter, the weight of his words was able sink in.

Lacey put a hand on his knee and looked up at him with a hesitant smile. “You're my best friend, too. I think.”

He smiled back– hesitant too, and it made her heart pound so heavily in her chest, it almost hurt.

“So that's  _ two _ of us with shitty taste in friends,” she tacked on to quiet it– only for shame to knot in her stomach an instant later.

Lachlan sighed. “You and me, Lace,” he said, gently grasping her hand where it lingered on his knee. “Two crabs in a bucket, eh?”

Her smile widened a bit, and she watched as he brushed his thumb over her knuckles.

“I missed you, you know,” he confessed.

It was tempting to say it back.  _ I missed you too. _ But Lacey wasn't sure that was true. She knew that she'd miss him _ now, _ but that was a different sort of thing altogether.

“You pissed me off,” she said, pulling her hand away and returning her focus to the record sleeve in her lap. 

A weak  _ “I'm sorry,” _ was all he had to offer.

Rubbing her finger over the corner of the sleeve, she read the track listing over and over. Until the song titles became just words, and the words just random jumbles of letters with no meaning at all. Until instead of jumbles of letters, she just saw  _ him _ – the image of him unconscious on the couch, burning into her mind's eye.

“I wanted to… to  _ help,” _ she said at last. “To  _ be there _ for you.”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, you were right to leave.”

“I just… I thought I  _ mattered, _ you know?” she said. “That I meant more to you than that.”

“You did,” he said, his voice small and ashamed. “But I– I was too scared to see it.”

“You scared  _ me!” _ Lacey choked out.  _ “Seeing _ you like that!” Her chin trembled with the oncoming tears she was holding back. “I thought you were  _ dead.” _

“I know. I know and I'm sorry. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t worth it.”

Those words seeped in, assuaging the hurt in her chest and replacing it with something else– something that was equally overwhelming, if not moreso. Lacey set the album aside and began to rock back and forth. “I touched you and you… you were so  _ cold!”  _ She wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist, sniffling. “...I was so scared.”

He remained quiet as she composed herself, and the longer the silence stretched on, she began to feel foolish for admitting it. To being scared.

“He was cold, too,” Lachlan said at last. “When I found him like that.”

The foolish feeling melted away, but it left her feeling cold, too. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and bit down in her cheek.

“That's what I remember the most, you know?” he continued. “I think back to that night, and I just... I _ feel it _ all over again. What it felt like when I  _ touched _ him. The cold, the– Not just in my hand, but…” he hesitated and rubbed his arms. “All over. My whole body.”

Lacey could feel it too. Think back to that afternoon. The way her heart pounded at the sight of him, how she trembled as she came over, and the cold. She'd only cupped a hand to his cheek, but in her memories, the cold was like a frost, extending all the way up her arm and freezing her chest.

Lachlan shifted on the couch, drawing his legs up and holding them tightly to his chest. “I just wish I could forget the _ cold.” _

Lacey wiped her eyes again and turned to look at him. “And the drink helps?” she asked– but she already knew the answer.

He closed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered.

“H-how often do you…”

“Every day,” he shuddered. “...Every night. It's like… while I'm working, I have the distraction, you know? But then when I'm done, and I come back here, and there's nothing to occupy me, I…” he sniffled, and Lacey returned her hand to his lap. He grabbed it right away, squeezing so hard it hurt. “I  _ cannot _ fall asleep until I've had a drink,” he choked out. “Or two. To make the cold go away.”

He drew a long, trembling breath and slowly eased his grip on her fingers. “Some nights are worse, and I don't know why. But I need more.”

Lacey sat in silence with him, not sure what to say to that.

Something to tell him it was okay, that she understood, that he wasn't alone. But  _ was _ it okay?  _ Did _ she understand? She was sure he couldn't be the only one who needed to drink themselves to sleep every night, but she slept just fine most nights herself. And that was the worst part, wasn’t it?

How  _ did  _ she sleep at night?

“It's not that I blame myself or anything,” she said at last. “But… I hate that I left you the way that I did.”

“No. Lace, don't say–”

“No,” she cut him off. “Because it's not… You scared me. Because seeing you like that, and the way you reacted, it was so  _ ugly, _ you know? And I–” she sniffed and rubbed at her nose, “I wanted to help you because I  _ cared _ about you, but also I  _ didn't– _ Not really. Because if you had to change, then that meant that _ I _ had to change, and I didn't want to face that reality yet.”

“Lace, you were never like me.”

She shook her head. “It's like… where do you draw the line, you know? Where do you draw the line between not giving up on somebody, and not making a fucking idiot of yourself?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I dunno, Lace.”

“I kept telling myself, that I left you because I respected myself too much to let you drag me down with you, you know? But it's like… the more I think about it, I don't think that's true. The more it feels like a cop out. The more  _ all _ of it feels like cop out.”

Lachlan narrowed his eyes at her.

“Everyone wants to be the fun one,” Lacey said. “The life of the party. The girl who can do the most shots, the girl who can drink all the guys under the table… You feel like,  _ that's my thing, _ you know? That's when _ finally _ everyone's looking at  _ you, _ going ‘look at what  _ Lacey _ can do!’” She sniffed loudly and wiped the corner of her eye. “But after the party, after the bar closes and everyone goes home… you take all that stuff away, and it’s like… what's left? Who even  _ am _ I, if not those things?”

He shook his head, but remained silent.

“So it’s like in some sick, fucked up way, I was  _ using _ you. Because you were  _ always _ up for a drink. You were  _ always _ up for a party. When I was with you, I didn't have to wait until Friday night to be  _ that girl, _ you know? I could be her at one o'clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday– and it wasn't pathetic and embarrassing.” She breathed shakily and turned away from him. “It was cool and glamorous.”

The record had stopped playing at some point, and Lacey couldn’t be sure which. “But then you stopped being a fun drunk,” she finished. “You didn't want to drink and party. You wanted to stay home. Just… drink and pass out.”

In the silence, she heard a sigh, and his hand gripped her shoulder. He didn't say anything, and for a long time, neither did she.

But she had to.

“Sometimes,” Lacey croaked, “I think that's the  _ real _ reason I left. Because you just didn't serve that  _ purpose  _ to me anymore. Because it was easier.” She snivelled and hiccuped, and her vision blurred with tears. “Because I got tired of you the same way I got tired of my dad!”

Her voice crumbled into a wailing cry, and his hand rubbed at her shoulder again.

Lacey could hear him whispering words of comfort.  _ What words, _ she couldn't make out– but that was of the least importance. They sounded soft and warm and gentle and that was all that mattered.

“I was supposed to go  _ back!” _ she choked out. “I just– I thought I'd have more time! We were supposed to have more time!”

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I know.”

Lacey curled against his leg, resting her head on his lap as her tears continued to fall. No matter how much she wept, the crushing feeling in her chest wouldn’t lift away. She gasped and hicced between bouts of grief until her head was pounding and her body ached with exhaustion. Until she just  _ couldn’t _ anymore.

She slumped against Lachlan’s lap with a final, heavy sigh. His hand petted at her hair, and his soft murmurings of  _ “there, there,” _ and _ “it’s alright,” _ nearly lulled her to sleep.

But she wasn’t finished. She had more to say.

“Maybe…” Lacey pulled away and to look up at him. “Maybe instead of getting better taste in friends, we could…  _ be _ better friends. To each other.”

He tilted his head at her.

“You and me,” she said, tucking away the hair the clung to her tear-dampened face. “When shit sucks, we just go out and get drunk so we can ignore it for a while. But all the shit doesn't just go away, you know?”

Lachlan nodded.

“Like… I know– I  _ knew  _ you had a drinking problem, and… it was selfish of me to drag you into going to that thing with Paul. Because maybe if we hadn't gone, and we weren't hungover the next day, that meeting with Arianwen would have went better, you know?”

Lachlan swallowed. “Ye didn't drag me there, Lace. That… That was on me.”

“And today. We shouldn't have gone to the bar. Because I don't want you to get deported. Or die in a car accident, or… you know.”

“I know.”

“And I realize that now. And that's why I wanted to leave the bar and come home. I want to do the right thing for you. For both of us.”

He looked down at her with a rueful smile. “Aye, me too,” he said, shifting on the couch and patting the space beside him. “Come on. Up.”

Lacey looked into his eyes for a moment, feeling a little tingle in her chest before pulling herself up and onto the couch. He scoot over, angling himself openly to her so she could get close. Smiling, she nestled against him and rested her head on his shoulder.

They both fidgeted a moment as they got comfortable, and Lacey let out a content sigh as his arm wrapped around her shoulders. His heart thumped slowly in her ear, and she felt the urge to bury her face in his chest so she could press a kiss there.

“What you told me that day,” he said, before she could work up the courage to do so. “I-I didn't know… what to do with that. Because I… I didn't deserve it.”

Lacey picked her head up and studied his face. “Maybe it's not something  _ anyone _ deserves,” she said. “Or has to _ earn.” _ She rested her head against him again, listened to his heartbeat again. “But that doesn't mean it's… Not there, you know? Or… matters any less?” 

His hand rubbed up and down her arm. “Aye, I suppose you’re right.”

“I meant it,” Lacey said, and her own pulse began to overtake his.

“I'm sorry. That I never said it back.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” she mumbled, feeling silly for it.

“You said you–” he cut himself off and sat up a little so he could see her face better. “You said you loved me, and I told you you were  _ delusional.” _ He brushed his fingers over her cheek and pressed his lips together, his chin wobbling. “But I loved you too. I loved you and I  _ still _ said those things and  _ that's _ why I don't deserve–”

“I was ugly to you, too,” she said.

“Only because I was ugly first.”

“That doesn't matter,” she shook her head. “I loved you too, and I still said those things, too. I still… twisted the knife and left you to die.”

“No, you didn’t. You saved my bloody life, Lace, and I didn’t even thank you.”

“You didn’t  _ want  _ to be saved at the time,” she shrugged, and in retrospect, she could let out a soft little laugh as she recalled his stubbornness.

He scoffed and look down at himself. “I was a fucking idiot.”

“You were,” she smiled, and finally pressed that kiss to his chest.

His breath hitched, and he exhaled slowly, his hand continuing to rub her shoulder. She reached her arm out, grasping at the blanket draped over the back of the couch, and tugged it down, pulling it over their bodies.

“You're not perfect,” she said, “but if getting sober was easy, everybody would do it.”

He sighed and shifted a little so he could help her with the blanket. Tucking it snugly under her chin, she wiggled closer. As close as she could get.

“I went to one one of those meetings once,” he said. “After you left.”

“Oh?”

“I… I hated it,” he confessed. “Went home and had a drink right after. Didnae go back.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Nothing _happened._ I just… they tell you the first step is to admit that you're powerless. That you've got _defects_ and have to ‘submit yourself to a higher power’ to _fix_ them, you know? And... I-I don't believe in any of that. They told me: oh, if you don't believe in God, that's fine. Your higher power can be anything you want to be– It can be a _doorknob–_ and that just feels ridiculous, ye know? Like a bloody joke.”

Lacey snorted, wiping the stubborn wetness from her eyes. “If someone told me to submit myself to a doorknob, I'd probably kick their ass.”

“Aye, right?” He chuckled, but it quickly wilted into a sigh. “It just felt like…  _ that's it, _ you know? Sobriety isn't for someone like me. Might as well have another drink.”

Lacey pushed herself up to look him in the eyes. “No,” she frowned. “Don’t say that.”

He cast his eyes downward, refusing to look at her again.

_ “Lachy.” _ she nudged his arm. “You can do it. I  _ know  _ you can.”

“I wish I could believe that,” he shrugged.

“Hey. No, listen–” she said. “You… you’ve come a long way since then.”

“Well, it’s clearly not enough,” he maintained. “If I need to be supervised to spend time with my own daughter.”

“Catherine just… needs time,” Lacey said. “Ten years? And you show up out of the blue with all this… DUI and deportation stuff? You can’t blame her for being cautious, you know?”

Lachlan nodded. “Aye. I suppose you’re right.”

“You’ll have a relationship with her again someday,” she assured. “I know it. I… I have a gut feeling.”

“I hope so,” he sniffed. “She just… she’s so  _ perfect, _ you know?”

“She is,” Lacey smiled, laying a hand over his. “Just think– she could’ve gotten Catherine’s hair instead,” she chanced to joke.

It landed, and he huffed a little laugh through his nose.

Lacey’s grin widened, and she rustled a hand through his hair, giving it a little tug. “You'll be okay,” she said, nestling back against his chest.


	14. Chapter 13

Lacey could remember being woken up sometime in the middle of the night when Lachlan wiggled out from beneath her to get ready for work. He’d whispered something about coming to bed. She’d grumbled something about being too comfortable, and felt him press a kiss to the top of her head before he walked off, leaving her to drift back to sleep.

The memory wasn’t enough to stop her from frowning as she woke up alone in the morning, but as she got up and went about her day, she felt so much  _ lighter. _

There was a spring in her step as she headed outside, tattered repair manual in hand, and began checking all her work from the other day. The system of hoses and pumps and gaskets didn’t seem so intimidating anymore, and after taking a few minutes to make sure all the connections were secure, Lacey was settling into the the driver’s seat.

Sliding the keys into the ignition, she took a deep breath and sat up tall, preparing herself for the moment of truth.

From its position on the passenger’s seat, her phone buzzed..

She slouched and dropped her hand to her lap, letting out an impatient groan before swiping the device off of the passenger's seat.

_ Ruby. _

Lacey touched her finger to the screen, ready to hit ignore– but something gave her pause. The phone buzzed in her hand, the pulsing vibration nagging and nagging, until at last she answered it.

“...Ruby?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“Hey,” Ruby answered, and she sounded as small and weak as she had the last time they talked.

Lacey swallowed. “What um... what's up?”

“Nothing, just… are you okay?”

Lacey frowned at the steering wheel. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“Nothing. I've just uh… been thinking,” Ruby said.

“Okay…” Lacey said, waiting for her to elaborate.

“I miss you.”

Lacey wiped her cheek. “I miss you too.”

The line was silent again, and Ruby took a deep breath. “Dottie and I talked,” she said, “and like… look– you’re a shitty roommate.”

Lacey nodded, taking the blow as gracefully as possible. “I’ve been told.”

Ruby laughed weakly.  _ “But... _ you’re still our friend?”

Lacey sighed. “I’m a pretty shitty one of those, too, Rubes,” she confessed.

“You might be a little…  _ stubborn,” _ she conceded, “and irresponsible, and… kinda spiteful sometimes. A little self-centered–”

“Whoa there, slow down–” Lacey said, “you’re making me blush.”

“Alright, alright,” Ruby giggled, “what I’m getting at, is we're sorry for kicking you to the curb, and if you want to, you’re welcome to stay at the apartment until we find a new roommate who isn’t a total weirdo.”

“You didn't kick me to the curb,” Lacey said, wrapping an arm around herself, “I’m the one who stormed off–”

“I mean– _ God, this feels so stupid–  _ like, we were totally serious about needing someone who can actually pay rent ‘cause they’re jacking it up again and it’s getting really hard to–”

“It’s fine, Rubes. I get it.”

“But until then, it just seems dick-ish to not let you crash around. And I don’t want us to… stop talking to each other over fucking money.”

Levey swallowed the lump in her throat. “Me neither.”

“So… what do you say?”

“Yeah,” Lacey sat up, her hand adjusting its grip the wheel. “I’d love to.”

“Okay, great!” Ruby chirped– but a sudden knot formed in Lacey’s belly, and she slouched into her seat again.

“Actually… I can't.”

“No?”

Lacey puffed her cheeks out and exhaled slowly. “I mean, I'd  _ love _ to, and I'm really… really grateful. But I actually kinda... have something on right now?”

“Oh,” Ruby said. “Seriously? I mean, that’s great. That you’re doing okay.”

Lacey looked back over her shoulder at the house. “I mean, it's kind of shitty and I'm out in the middle of fucking nowhere, but… well, I made a promise to somebody.”

Ruby laughed. “Lacey French made a  _ promise _ to somebody?” she teased. “To  _ who?” _

A smile tugged at her lips. “That's… none of your business,” Lacey chuckled, feeling herself blush.

_ “Hmm…” _ Ruby pondered. “Well, now I’m doubly intrigued...”

“They’re um, kind of an old flame?”

“Oh!” Ruby gasped. “Will? I always liked him. He seemed really sweet–”

“No…” Lacey mumbled. “But now that you mention it, I should probably call him, I think I owe him an apolo–”

“Alright, hold on,” Ruby said. “Let me guess– old flame who isn’t Will… I don’t think it’s  _ Keith–” _

“Ew!” Lacey shuddered. “God, no! He’s not an  _ old flame _ ,” she laughed, “What the hell?!”

“So that leaves…” Ruby continued, mumbling names under her breath, “ _ oh my God.” _

Lacey rubbed the back of her neck. “What um… what?”

“You're back with Lachlan, aren't you?”

Warmth crept over Lacey’s neck and face, and up to her ears. “I mean, not like… officially?”

“But you  _ slept  _ with him.”

She stared down at her lap, wishing for some excuse to end the call. “...So?”

“Lacey, what the fuck,” Ruby groaned. “The guy's a mess.”

“Yeah, well, _ so am I,” _ she snipped, shrinking in her seat and rubbing a hand over her eyes.

There was a moment of silence before Ruby let out a deep sigh. “Why though? I mean–”

“He's getting deported. Or he will be, if I don't help him.”

“Help him  _ how, _ Lacey?”

“Well…” she rubbed her hand over the center console, clicking the storage compartment open and closed repeatedly as a distraction. “It might involve some minor fraud...”

“Jesus Christ. He couldn't find somebody else to drag into this?”

“It  _ had _ to be me,” Lacey said. “I'm still… his wife.”

“Oh, Lacey, Lacey, Lacey…” she tutted. “I thought you said that you–” 

“I just _ said _ we filed so you'd stop  _ nagging _ me about it!” she shouted.

The confession was met with silence, and Lacey could feel her pulse thundering in her ears. “But it's fine!” she insisted. “It's gonna be  _ fine!” _

“Why do you even _care_ if he gets deported?” Ruby asked. “Last you told me he was a _washed-up alchy loser.”_

“No,” Lacey frowned, “he's… he's different now. I think we both are.”

“Oh God…” she groaned. “You  _ love _ him.”

“What?!  _ No!” _ Lacey blurted far too loudly.

“Look, I get it. It's fine. I just… you seemed pretty shaken up after you left him. I think I'm allowed to be concerned.”

“Well, it's fine now,” she said again, resisting the urge to just hang up already. She wouldn't have picked up the phone in the first place of she knew she was just going to have all her fucking life choices attacked.

_ “Is it?”  _ Ruby asked. “Lace, you never even told me what happened! What he did to–”

“He didn't _ do _ anything! We just… had a really bad argument.”

Ruby clicked her tongue. “Sure.”

Lacey sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck. “Alright, fine,” she said. “He has a drinking problem, and… it got really bad. He got really angry when I confronted him about it, and the whole thing just scared me, okay? I didn't know how to deal with it! I didn't  _ want _ to!”

Ruby scoffed. “Now _ that _ I believe.”

“Things are different now, we– we talked. Like,  _ really  _ talked.”

She took a deep breath and sighed. “I just hope you're right, is all.”

The muscles in Lacey's shoulders finally relaxed. “Trust me. There was lots of crying and being honest with each other and shit,” she joked, “You wouldn't have recognized me, Rubes.”

“Okay,” she said quietly. “I believe you.”

“Maybe–” Lacey hesitated, “maybe I'll come by the diner this weekend? And  _ we _ could talk.”

“Better be _ after _ my shift,” she said. “Can't have my makeup getting all ruined because I'm crying on my lunch break.”

Lacey snorted. “Your eyeliner's waterproof.”

“Yeah, but my mascara  _ isn't!”  _ she laughed, Lacey listened to the sound with a smile. “But okay,” Ruby said, “I'll let you go now. I just… I love you and miss you, okay?”

“Yeah, me too.”

They exchanged awkward goodbyes, and Lacey tossed her phone back into the passenger's seat. For a long while, she sat still with her hands on the wheel, staring out the windshield. A bird fluttered across the sky in the distance, landing on a tree, and soon an entire flock of black shapes scattered about, rustling the branches.

Lacey shook her head. She'd climbed into the car for a reason.

Sliding the key into the ignition, she fluttered her tingling fingers and took a deep breath. She had to close her eyes as she turned it over.

Two quick pumps of the accelerator sent the engine roaring to life, and relief washed over her as it continued to idle steadily as she lifted her foot off the pedal.

A smile slowly spread across Lacey’s face. She covered her mouth and wiggled her legs giddily, letting out a little squeal. Her heart thumped as she gripped the gear stick, and her grin widened when the car shifted gears without a hitch. The engine rumbled as she pressed down on the pedal, and soon she was pulling out onto the quiet avenue, making the first of many zips up and down the street.

Her fun was cut short when she recognized Lachlan's truck in the distance, hurdling back toward the house. It couldn't have been past noon, and she wasn't expecting him until at least four.

She raced back into the driveway to wait for him, and noticed a smile on his face as he pulled in. He hopped out of the truck right away, and Lacey figured she may as well do the same.

“Hey!” he hollered as she swung open the door and climbed out. Lachlan put this hands on his hips and took a long, appreciative look at the car. “You got it running,” he said.

“I did,” she grinned proudly. “No deadly explosions or anything!” 

“That's  _ fucking fantastic, _ sweetheart,” he nodded, giving her a pat on the back. “What did I tell you?” 

His uncharacteristic enthusiasm made Lacey furrow her brows.

“Listen–” He clapped his hands, rubbing them together for a moment before pointing at her. “I  _ also _ have some fantastic news.”

She tilted her head at him expectantly.

“I got a call from my probation officer,” he said, wetting his lips.

A tightness crept over Lacey's chest. “...Yeah?”

Lachlan eased his shoulders and smiled. “I'm gonna get to stay.”

_ “...What?” _ Lacey's head lurched forward. _ “Why?” _ After a beat, she caught herself and shook her head. “I mean, that's  _ great,” _ she laughed, “I just… don't understand–”

“I don't understand it either,” he chuckled. “But that's par for the course, no? She said to come by today for an interview.”

“Oh.” she blinked.

Lachlan set his hands on her shoulders and gave her a hard kiss on the lips. She let out a surprised hum, and hardly had the chance to reciprocate before he pulled away.

“I'm staying,” he said again, as though he could hardly believe it himself.

Lacey had to wait a moment for the flutter in her chest to subside– but it never truly did. “Do… do you need a ride, then?”

“No, it's fine,” he dismissed with the wave of a hand, already heading into the house. “I can take myself. Just gonnae get a shower.”

Lacey frowned. “But what about your license–”

The door shut behind him, and amidst Lachlan's excitement, she wasn't sure why she felt so sick.

She shook it off and distracted herself with the work of loading all the tools she'd borrowed back into the trunk.

She should be happy for him, but if he was cleared to stay, then where did that leave her? He wouldn't need her to lie for him anymore. Wouldn't need her to pretend anymore. He wouldn't need her at all.

Everything could go back to normal now, but she wasn't sure she wanted it to. So much had already changed– had it?

Dare she admit to liking it here? With him? To caring about him? To not wanting it to end, not just yet?

He rushed out the door a few minutes later, waving and hollering a  _ see you later  _ before climbing into his truck and hauling back down the road.

She watched it disappear in the distance, unable to shake the unpleasant feeling in her chest.


	15. Chapter 14

There was a strange energy at the barn when Lacey returned to drop off the tools. She’d almost turned around and crept away when she noticed Warren was present, but he caught sight of her before she could.

They’d all been discussing him, Lachlan, and were under the erroneous impression that she knew any more than they did. Julian seemed optimistic, and Warren cautiously so. The other workers were more skeptical, their horror stories doing nothing to calm her nerves over the whole thing.

It was a welcome distraction when her phone rang.

“Oh– it's Lachy!” she smiled, and Jesus Christ, she really  _ did _ have it bad, didn't she?

“Lachy!” she picked up, doing her best to sound positive. “How do it go?”

_ “It was a fucking trap,”  _ he muttered.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. “Wh-what do you mean?”

The barn fell silent and still as everyone tried to listen in.

“I got here and they put me in fucking  _ handcuffs _ , is what I mean!”

“I don't understand. I thought you said they–”

“They fucking lied.” he said. “ICE put a hold on me. I'm being fucking detained.”

“What does that mean?”

“They think I'm a fucking flight risk, so they're throwing me in a goddamned cell for forty-eight hours. Or longer, if they decide to charge me with something.”

“Can… can I bail you out? Or something?” she asked, and all the voices began  murmuring around her.

He scoffed. “Why? You have an extra three grand lying around?”

Lacey flinched from his anger, but she could understand it. He was getting locked up and there was nothing she could do about it. She waved everyone off and retreated to the corner. “No…”

“I'm sorry.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Look, I don't know what to do, Lace. I just… figured I'd let you know.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, her mind already racing for some kind of way to get him out of this mess. It was a helpless situation, though, especially when she didn't even have a car that ran proper– 

Lacey froze and peered through the barn's wooden slats at the Camaro. Her chest tingled, but this was a  _ good _ tingle.

“Um… I can be over there tonight?” she offered.

“You don't have to–”

Lacey shifted on her feet, another idea percolating. “Three grand, you said? You have any cash hidden away at the house?”

He scoffed. “Not  _ that _ much.”

She wet her lips. “How much?”

“I don't know,” he sighed. “Five hundred, maybe? Bottom left drawer of my dresser. Why?”

Lacey took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

This was it. This was her time to shine. 

“It's a shame you're gonna miss it, baby,” she grinned excitedly.

“...Miss what?”

“Seeing this tight Aussie ass bent over a pool table.”

The line was silent for a moment. “You're gonna  _ gamble _ my money?”

Well,  _ that _ wasn't the reaction she was hoping for.

Lacey deflated. “What?! You don't think I can do it?”

“Ah…  _ No, _ actually. I  _ don't _ think you can hustle three grand in one night,” he deadpanned. “Are you fucking insane?”

“Look. I know  _ all _ the spots.”

“No. I appreciate the sentiment Lace, but–”

“I can spot a sucker from a mile–”

_ “No!” _

Lacey stomped her foot. “It'll be  _ fine! _ I haven't hustled in  _ years! _ No one’s gonna recognize–  _ Hey!” _ she got cut off when her phone was ripped from her hands.

Warren shot her a disapproving look, and pressed the device to his ear. “They got you at the center in Adelanto?” he asked. “...We’ll be there in a few hours.”

He hung up and tossed the phone back to her. “You– in the truck. You're coming.”

  
  


*****

  
  


“You look nervous,” Warren said, as he pulled into a parking spot.

Lacey shrugged. “A little bit.”

“We'll get him home tonight,” he assured. “Not the first time this has happened.”

Her brows shot up. “It's  _ not? _ Fuck, I'm sorry, I don't know why he–”

“For  _ me,  _ I mean,” Warren clarified. “I mean it's not the first time one of my guys have gotten picked up by ICE.”

“Oh.”

“Never thought I'd see the day the  _ white _ guy got picked up, but…” he trailed off.

Lacey managed little scoff. “First for everything, right?”

He put the truck in park and killed the engine. “You ready?”

She took a deep breath and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Yeah,” she nodded. “You have any idea how many times have been asked to speak to the manager?”

Warren furrowed his brows.

“I gotta lot of canned rage,” she explained, thrusting the door open and jumping out.

He blinked owlishly and followed after her as she stormed toward the building.

“You know, when I said I’ve dealt with this sort of thing before, I meant you could leave the talking to me,” Warren called after her.

Lacey couldn’t hear him over the sound of her bursting through the front door and stalking up to the counter.

“Ma'am? Can I help you?”

Lacey hunched over the reception desk, staring down the groggy looking woman behind the counter who probably wasn’t being paid enough for the shitstorm she was prepared to kick up. 

“You have my  _ husband,” _ she snarled.

The woman held her gaze for a moment before sweeping her eyes back to the screen in front of her with a resigned sigh. “Your  _ husband _ gotta name?”

“Lachlan MacAldonich.”

Her fingers clacked loudly on the keyboard for a few seconds. “And you are?”

“Lacey French. Full-fledged American citizen since  _ 1996, _ thank you very much.”

The woman paused her typing. “...Congratulations,” she said dryly, and continued.

Lacey huffed. “Look, I don't know what kind of scam you assholes are running, but I'm pretty sure tricking people into coming here just so you can arrest them is like… unconstitutional or whatever.”

“ICE submitted a detainer request for your husband, Mrs MacAldonich.”

“It's  _ French.” _

“Your husband isn't under arrest. He's simply been  _ detained.” _

“Oh, wow. Thanks for clearing  _ that _ up,” Lacey rolled her eyes. “Maybe instead of  _ shoving my foot up your ass, _ I'll simply  _ insert my–” _

Warren cleared his throat and stepped in, shoving her aside. “His bond's three grand?”

The woman jut her chin and smiled. “That's correct, sir,” she said. “The full amount of which will be refunded to you after his case, provided Mr McDonald makes all of his court appearances.”

Lacey clenched her jaw.

With a weary sigh of resignation, Warren took out his wallet.  _ “Better _ make all his court appearances,” he grumbled under his breath.

With that, the woman set a clipboard in front of him– instructing him to sign here and initial there before gleefully running his credit card.

Within a few minutes Lachlan came out, looking completely drained of all the energy he'd been bursting with before he left. He looked sullen and tired, and offered nothing more than a weak smile when their eyes met.

She wrapped her arms around him anyway, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I told you I'd come,” she said, squeezing him tight.

“Aye,” he mumbled. “Thanks.”

“You okay?” she asked, tucking his hair out of his face. 

“M’fine,” he said, swatting her hands away. “Just want to get out of here.”

“Okay,” she frowned. “You hungry? Should we–”

“I said I'm  _ fine.”  _ he insisted and brushed past her, but Lacey didn't miss the way he began rubbing his arms, as though he was cold.

  
  
  


*****

  
  


Lachlan immediately poured himself a drink when they made it back home, and Lacey couldn't bring herself to say anything to him about it.

She figured he’d have a few, fall asleep, and they could talk about everything in the morning. He disappeared into the bedroom, and she kept to the couch, idly flipping through the pages of a copy of  _ Rolling Stone. _ Advertisements for vodka, whisky, and rum appeared every several pages, promising allure and excitement.

Lacey turned those pages quickly, before the urge to rip them out could win her over.

“I'm going out.”

She glanced up from the magazine, finding Lachlan pulling his jacket on by the front door. 

“Where?”

“Be back later,” he said.

“I said  _ where.” _

“To the bar.”

“Welp,” Lacey clicked her tongue, and flipped a page in her magazine. “That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“What?”

_ “What?” _ she echoed back at him. “We're really going to do this? After  _ everything _ we talked about last night?”

He rolled his eyes. “Cut us a break, alright? It's been a shite fucking day.”

Lacey closed her magazine and tossed it aside. “You're a fucking alcoholic, Lachy.  _ You _ going to a  _ bar–  _ in  _ this _ state– is a terrible idea.”

He hesitated for all of about five seconds before sneering and waving her off.

_ “Lachlan.” _

“Look– It's over, alright?!” he shouted. “I'm getting deported. There's nothing more that I, or you, or my crap lawyers, or anybody else can do.”

Lacey stared back at him and swallowed.

“You might as well just pack up your shit and go,” he muttered.

“No,” she shook her head. “I'm staying right here.”

His mouth hung open for a moment, and he narrowed his eyes at her. “And  _ I'm _ getting a drink.”

_ “Are _ you?” she asked. “Are you getting  _ a _ drink? Or will it be two, three, four drinks? Or however many it takes? For you to numb yourself to the pain? To the cold?”

“However many as I bloody like,” he seethed.

Lacey shook her head at him.

He rolled his eyes and gestured emptily around the room. “What?” he asked. “What is it now?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I'm just… disappointed in you. After everything, I'm disappointed in  _ you, _ and I'm disappointed in  _ myself _ for falling for your bullshit again.”

Lachlan opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself, clenching his jaw instead.

“But why stop there?” Lacey asked. “Why stop with me? Let's see who else… Warren? Who just put down  _ three thousand dollars _ to get your ass out of detention? Because he trusted you not to fuck up again? Or Julian, who looks up to you in his own way? Who worries and asks me about you because he considers you  _ family?” _

He looked down at the floor, circling his thumb over his forefinger.

“Yeah. He told me that,” Lacey said. “And how about Arianwen? How about your own fucking daughter, who so  _ clearly _ wants to know her dad, but  _ can't _ because he'd rather get drunk off his ass?”

“Don't bring my family into this,” he grit through his teeth.

“Here's the problem with you, Lachy: you think you have no choice but to get deported because there's no one who gives a shit whether you're here or not– but that's just a bullshit excuse, isn't it? You have  _ so _ many people who give a shit, but you just won't fucking let them, will you? Because as long as you convince yourself that no one cares, you don't have to _ try.” _

He breathed heavily for a moment, and Lacey waited.

“I'll be back later,” he said at last, and turned back to the door.

She folded her arms over her chest. “And I'll be here, waiting,” she muttered under her breath. “Because despite everything, I still give a rat's ass.”


	16. Chapter 15

Ruby had been right, which meant that once again, Lacey had been wrong.

There had to be a line between not giving up on somebody and not making an idiot of yourself. Lacey tossed and turned in bed for the dozenth time, and caught the glowing red 12:57 on the alarm cock.

It was time to draw that line.

Tomorrow morning, she'd pack up her shit, drive back to LA, and beg Ruby for that job at the diner. Should probably look into how to actually file for divorce too. If Lachlan really _ was _ getting deported, it would certainly be best to get that taken care of while he was still in the States, wouldn’t it?

A flash of light passed over the bedroom window then, and Lacey held her breath.

Should she be relieved that he'd made it home in one piece? Or worried about having to deal with his drunk ass again?

But instead of the sound of the door cracking open, there was a knock. Throwing the covers off her body, Lacey climbed out of bed to answer it with a huff.

She opened the door to find Warren waiting, his truck idling a few yards back.

“Uh… Lacey?” he asked uncertainly, as though he wasn't sure if that was actually her name.

She raised her brows expectantly.

“Just got a call from Brian at the bar. Lachlan’s out of–”

“God damnit,” she muttered. “I'll be out in a sec. Let me throw some pants on for Christ's sake.”

  
  
  


*****

  
  


Lacey flinched when they walked through the door. She'd expected to see Lachlan slumped over the bar, but instead, he was up on his feet, walking clumsy circles around the place.

“Ah, Warren,” he said, as if he'd been expecting them. “Got the kids tucked up in bed, have you?” 

“Yeah. Hours ago.”

“And Lace…” he smiled and pointed a finger at her, “‘bout time you joined me!” He turned back toward the other men at the bar and pat one of them on the shoulder. “How's about one for the lass over there, eh?”

The bartender came around the counter, giving her and Warren an apologetic look. “Thanks for coming,” he whispered. “I just… didn't wanna have to call the police on him. I know he's in enough trouble as it is.”

Lacey nodded. “Yeah,” she said keeping her eyes cast on the floor. “Thanks, Brian.”

“So what happened?” Warren asked.

He glanced at back Lachlan and shrugged. “I cut him off.”

They all watched as Lachlan staggered about the bar, muttering his grievances over being turned away. He stumbled into the Jukebox in the corner and started laughing, and Warren followed him over.

“Alright, buddy,” he said, reaching for his shoulder. “We're here to take you home.”

Lachlan smacked his hand away. “Don't fuckin’ touch me, alright?”

Lacey winced, as if she'd been smacked away herself.

Warren took a step back, holding his hands up where he could see them. “Alright, not touching…”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Lachlan informed them, and began pushing one of the buttons on the jukebox. “I'm listening to some music, alright?”

Warren sighed. “Look man– I got out of bed in the middle of the night to come get you, so let's just go.”

“Oh, aye…” Lachlan mocked him. “You and your perfect wee farmhouse… with your perfect wee kids, all–”

“Don't talk bad about my family.”

“Family?!” he shouted. “You wanna talk about family?! Let's talk about  _ my _ family!”

Warren sighed. “Don't do this, man.”

“Let's see who's here, eh?” he slurred, pressing the buttons on the jukebox. “John Lennon. Love John Lennon. Janis Joplin… all dead…”

Lacey's heart sank as she watched him browse the catalog, cycling through all the names. “Lachy, come on.”

“The Doors– Jim Morrison… You know who's not in here?” he asked.

Warren looked up to the ceiling impatiently. “Who?”

“You can ask her,” he pointed to Lacey. “You know it– don't you, sweetheart?”

_ “Lachy,” _ she warned him.

“Come on, tell us, Lace… Who's not in this jukebox?”

She wasn't sure if she should speak the name. Not with the way he'd exploded at her last time. Nonetheless, she took a deep breath and swallowed, bracing herself. “...Jed.”

“That's right!” Lachlan grinned manically. “My brother, Jed! And do you know why?! You wanna know why, Warren? Take a guess why!”

Lacey tried to step between them, but the distance between them was already to small. “Lachy, come on,” she begged. “We talked about this.”

“Because he  _ died!” _ he shouted. “He died before he could have a chance to be in an fucking American jukebox!” 

His voice cracked into tears on those last words, and he slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor. Rocking back and forth, he feverishly began running his hands through his hair. 

Lacey crouched down beside him, but remained hesitant to touch.

“You feel the cold again, don't you, baby?” she asked softly. “Must be really bad tonight, huh? You can't forget? No matter how much you try?”

He shook his head, refusing to look at her.

“Tell me, what hand was it?” Lacey said. “It was the left for me.” She held it out for him to take, but he only stared. “When I found you, remember? How we talked about that? I touched your cheek, and you were  _ so _ cold.”

He pressed his lips together in hesitation, and slowly reached out with his right hand. Lacey grasped it and held it to her chest, rubbing and breathing on it– anything she could think of to warm it up.

Warren stepped closer. “It's a black night, man. It'll feel different in the morning.”

“He's right, Lachy,” she whispered. “Listen to him. Let us take you home.”

Lachlan shook his head and yanked his hand away. “I  _ canny _ go back!”

“That doesn't matter right now,” Lacey said. “We can figure it  _ all _ out tomorrow. But we gotta get you home safe first.”

“No, no, no…” he cowered away from her, shaking his head.

“Lachy, come on. I know it's scary. I know it hurts. You don't have to come back to the house just yet. But please, for now, just come back to  _ me?” _

“He's  _ dead _ because of me!” He shouted, pounding his chest. “It's  _ my _ fault! I killed him!”

_ “Sh, sh…” _ Lacey hushed, inching closer. “I know it feels that way. But it's not. You can't blame yoursel–”

“No! I  _ can _ blame myself!” he cried out. “He wanted to get  _ clean, _ Lace! He wanted to get clean but  _ I _ brought the drugs! I brought the drugs and kept eggin' him on!  _ Come on, Jed! Just one more hit! _ ” He buried his face in his hands and can began to sob uncontrollably. _ “I _ gave him the junk that  _ killed _ him!  _ I'm _ the reason he's fucking dead!”

Lacey froze and took in the sight of him, cowering on the floor, crying and pulling at his hair– and her hand came up to her throat. A slew of accusations began to whir through her mind– selfish, idiot, junkie, piece of shit,  _ how could you?–  _ and she forced them away.

In her shock, she'd forgotten to breathe, and Lacey had to take a deep breath before she could fall over. “You could have told me,” she said quietly.

“It should have been  _ me!” _ he wept, dragging his hands over his face. “Oh God, it should have been me!”

“No,” Lacey shook her head. “No, don't say that.”

_ “He's _ the one who should still be here!”

She didn't know how to respond to that. All the generic placations that springed to mind seemed to fall flat. Lacey glanced up at where Warren stood over them. He checked in with a look which she answered with a nod, and stepped away.

Lacey finally dropped down beside Lachlan, ignoring the flypaper stickiness of the dirty floors– and the dead cockroach lying belly-up little more than a foot away.

“I wish he could still be here, too,” she settled with. “But… but I wouldn't trade you for him for the world.”

“Well, you should!” he choked out. “He was the one with the  _ talent,  _ alright? I was just the fuck-up! Fucking… hanger-on!”

“No,” she scoot closer and put her hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze. “No, you were his little brother. And I don't have to have met him to know he loved you, and would have been devastated to lose you.”

He went quiet, but his breaths continued to race and his body continued to tremble.

“You think he wouldn't have blamed himself too?” Lacey asked. “For not looking out for you? For being the reason his little brother dropped out of school and moved to Manchester at  _ fifteen? _ For being the reason you got on that path in the first place? All the drinking and the drugs?”

“I dunno,” he mumbled.

“No, I think you  _ do,” _ Lacey nodded. “Jed wanted to get clean?” she asked. “Well, I don't believe for one second that he wouldn't have wanted the same for you. For his little brother get sober and be a good dad to the niece he never got to see grow up.”

His chin wobbled with the next wave of tears, and Lacey tentatively wrapped her arms around him, waiting for the moment he might shove her away. Instead, he hiccuped and melted into her, letting her hold him tight.

“He's gone, Lachy,” she sniffled over his shoulder. “It sucks and it's not fair, but no amount of hating yourself is going to bring him back.”

He trembled and gasped for breath, but through his shaking sobs, she could feel him nodding against her.

“You know it would  _ break his heart _ to see you like this,” Lacey said, and she thought of her mother.

She'd wondered before, if mom ever looked down at her– if she'd be proud of the woman she saw– but now for the first time, Lacey felt in her heart that the answer was  _ yes. _

“You wanna  _ honor _ Jed?” she asked. “You wanna make amends for the life he lost? This isn't how you do it.”

Lachlan snivelled and lifted his head up, their hair clinging to their tear and sweat dampened faces. “Then what is?” he begged.

Lacey combed the tangled mop of brown out of their faces so she could look him in the eyes. “I don't know,” she said. “I never got to tell my mom I loved her one last time, and I'll never get to tell my dad I'm sorry and that I loved him too… but I  _ do _ know that I can still try to do better  _ now _ ? You know?”

“I can't,” he shook his head.

“Yes you can. We both can.”

“What does it matter?” he asked. “No one cares if I'm here. If I'm alive or dead.”

“You matter to  _ me?” _ she told him. “I'm  _ glad _ you're still here. And I know I don't wanna make the same mistake again. I'm not gonna walk away from somebody I care about when they need me the most.”

He held still, his grip on her shoulder tightening and loosening as bouts of tears came and went. He finally seemed to calm down, and Lacey carefully slipped out of his arms.

She pulled herself back up to her feet and held out her hand to him. “Come on, Lachy,” she said. “Let's go home.”

He grabbed onto it and nodded. “Okay.”


	17. Chapter 16

_ One Month Later _

 

“So he's  _ really _ going back?” Ruby asked.

Lacey tried to ignore her as she crossed the gleaming vinyl floors, returning behind the counter. She tore the order ticket from her pad and clipped it onto the kitchen rail. “Yeah.”

“How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” she muttered.

Ruby rolled her eyes, leaning against the counter with a sigh and folding her arms over her chest.

_ “What?” _ Lacey snipped, turning away and to grab glasses for her table.

“You…  _ liked _ him,” she said, following after her.

Lacey could at least appreciate her careful choice of words. She thrust the first of the glasses under the ice dispenser, grateful for the loud and terrible noise it made, however short-lived it was.

Ruby opened her mouth to speak again, and Lacey quickly moved onto the next glass so the ice machine could cut her off.

“Do you–”

Third glass.

“Lace–”

Forth glass.

Ruby huffed in annoyance. “You  _ love _ him.”

Lacey scowled and began filling one of the glasses with  _ Mr Pibb.  _ “Yeah. My first mistake: Getting attached to an alchy loser.”

“You don't mean that,” Ruby said, stepping closer.

“I don't,” Lacey admitted freely, and the soda fountain clicked as she swapped in the next glass. Coke.

_ Or was it supposed to be diet? _

“But it doesn't matter, alright?” she said. “He's going back to Scotland, and that's that.”

_ Coke. Definitely regular Coke. _

Ruby stared down at her feet. “Do you think he'll… _ be okay?” _

“You mean, do I think he'll fall off the wagon again once he's back over there?” Lacey said. “Who knows.”

She moved onto the next glass, watching the effervescent fizz as she filled it with Sprite.

“He–” Lacey cut herself off, catching herself volunteering information like some kind of vulnerable fool who talked about their stupid  _ feelings. _

Ruby was waiting so patiently for her to continue though, and Lacey relented.

“He's been doing really good,” she said. “Last I heard, anyway.”

_ “Last you heard?”  _ Ruby asked. “From who?”

“He left me a voicemail last week.”

Ruby gave her a stern look. “Did you  _ miss _ his call, or did you just  _ ignore _ it?”

Lacey threw her head back and groaned.

_ “Ignored, _ then...” Ruby grinned. “So what did he say?”

“He called to say that his ex let him see his daughter again and it went well. That she's gonna let him hang out with her until he leaves next month. Maybe even let her visit him over the summer. That he hasn't had a single drink since that night. That he's feeling better. That he... wants to see me.”

“...And?”

“Look– goodbyes suck, alright?” Lacey said, grabbing the fourth and final glass. _ That  _ one was the diet Coke, she remembered.

“So you're just avoiding him.” Ruby nodded. “Great strategy. You'll  _ definitely _ never live to regret that at all.”

Lacey glared at her, the effect lost as she struggled to pick up all four filled glasses.

Ruby pouted her lips, eyes drifting upwards in thought. “You ever consider… I don't know– maybe…”

“Consider  _ what?” _ Lacey asked bitterly. She’d been wracking her brain over Lachlan all month. If there was anything she hadn't considered, she'd love to hear it.

“Going after him,” she suggested casually, with a shrug. “You know, storm the airport the day of his flight. Run to the gate all,  _ 'stop that plane!’” _

Lacey shot her a defeated look, not about to admit that  _ yes _ – she actually  _ had _ considered that.

“You said it yourself,” she mumbled. “All I do is run away from my problems. Well– not anymore. I've accepted my place in life as a waitress at a crappy diner.”

She  expected Ruby to rush to defend  _ Granny’s _ honor, but instead she only frowned. 

“This is different though.”

_ “How?” _

“Because,” Ruby shrugged. “You wouldn’t be running  _ away  _ from something, Lace. You’d be… running  _ towards _ it.”

Lacey rolled her eyes.  _ “Excuse me,” _ she grumbled, finally mastering her hold on the drinks. “Table seven is waiting for these and I don't wanna screw myself out of a decent tip.”

Ruby nudged her with her elbow. “Don't forget to smile, babe,” she winked.

“Oh, we’re back to  _ training  _ me now?” Lacey asked. “I could’ve sworn this was therapy.”

She chuckled and shook her head, stepping out of the way.

_ Running towards it,  _ Lacey thought sourly as she finally made her way to the table. What was she supposed to do? Just drop everything and move to Scotland?

Ridiculous.

_ Visit him? _ Maybe. But  _ go after him? _

Even if she wanted to, it wasn't as though she could afford transatlantic airfare. She was barely scraping enough together to visit her parents’ graves, for Christ’s sake.

“...Hello?”

Lacey gasped and shook her head, her eyes darting between the guests at the table– a team of guys on their lunch breaks, judging by their uniforms. Not retail, but some kind of trade. _ Electricians? Welders? _

“Can I get a straw?” one of them asked.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure,” she stammered and shook her head again, reaching into the pocket of her apron and dropping four on the table.

“Hey–” another coughed. “Quick question.”

She tried not to look too annoyed. “Yeah?”

He looked out the window and pointed at her car in the parking lot. “You wouldn’t happen to know who that Camaro belongs to, would you?”

Lacey eyed him skeptically. “Yeah. It's uh, mine actually.”

“Man,” he sighed, leaning back in his seat. “Beautiful car. You’re taking good care of it.”

“Uh… thanks,” she accepted the compliment awkwardly, squinting at the name stitched into his uniform.

_ Chris. _

Why did that ring a bell?

It was a common name, obviously. But it felt  _ significant  _ somehow. 

“Saw one just like it about a month or two ago... at the lot where they do the farmer’s market?” he said. “Was hoping the owner was looking to sell, but uh… never heard from ‘em.”

_Oh._ Lacey tilted her head back, parting her lips. _That_ _Chris._

“I um…  _ wasn’t  _ looking to sell,” she said. “At the time.”

“Oh,” Chris scoot forward. “No shit! That was  _ you?” _

“Yeah,” she swallowed.

He chuckled lightly, his pretty green eyes making a fleeting, tell-tale trip to her hands. 

_ Cute, but not her type,  _ Lacey decided quickly.

“So,” he smiled, “you must uh… already have my number then?” His eyes made another trip, this time to her name tag. _ “...Lacey?” _

“Uh… I-I’m married.” she stammered, much to his buddies’ amusement.

After all, she had  _ one  _ type these days, and it was  _ newly-sober, middle-aged Brit rocker with a boatload of demons, bad taste in shirts, and an even worse sense of humor. _

“Oh,” Chris coughed and looked away, hiding his burning cheeks. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Lacey waited for the snorts and stifled giggling to subside. “But I might be interested,” she said.  _ “In selling the car,  _ I mean. Not– not that you– I– I’m married.”

“I don’t know,” one of the other guys chimed in, “I don’t see a ring...”

Before Lacey could find a fork to threaten the bastard with, Chris was pinning him with an icy stare. “Really, Steve?”

_ That’s right,  _ she thought.  _ Shove it, Steve. _

“Well anyway,” Chris dug out his wallet, taking out a business card and holding it out to her, “if you  _ do  _ decide to sell–”

“Yeah,” she nodded, plucking it from his fingers. “Yeah, you’ll be the first to know.”

  
  
  


*****

  
  
  


Lachy’s truck wasn’t in the driveway when the cab dropped her off at the house. There was new furniture on the porch too, and Lacey's heart sank with the realization that she was too late.

But then she peered through the window in the front door, finding the same ugly couch, and the same wall of shelves crammed with records. His Les Paul was nowhere in sight– but the acoustic was lying on the couch, which made her smile.

She dropped her bags on the porch, took a seat, and waited. The only thing it was too late for was turning back. In retrospect, she probably should have  _ called  _ first, but… where was the fun in that?

It was starting to get late when she heard the familiar rumbling of Lachlan’s truck coming up the road. She slouched in the wicker seat, aiming to look casual– but the dance her insides were doing told a far different story.

Her pulse was thick as he pulled into the driveway and cut off the engine. She could hear his boots scuffing against the pavement, crunching on the brittle grass, and stopping halfway up the porch steps.

_ “Lace,”  _ he said– not sounding half as surprised as she’d hoped he would be.

“Hey.” She squinted up at him against the sunset. “You redecorated.”

“Yeah. Traded the fish tank for the set,” he said.

Lacey scrunched her face at him. “Little late in the game, isn't it?”

“Arianwen likes to look at the sky out here at night,” he explained cautiously, looking around at the bags on the floor. “What ah… what’s all this?”

She uncrossed her legs from the little matching wicker table and sat up. “All my shit.”

He nodded slowly. “...What's it doing here?”

“I wanna go with you. To Scotland. Or wherever, I guess.”

Lachlan rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed. He slowly lowered himself into the chair opposite her and hunched over, elbows on his knees, head propped up on his fists.

“What are ye doing here, Lace?” he asked, eyes fixed on the ground.

“I got your voicemail,” she said. “You said you wanted to see me.”

He scoffed, briefly cocking his head to the side. “This ah… isn't quite what I had in mind.”

She pressed her lips together, hoping it would hold her whole  _ self _ together. “I know.”

He took a deep breath and seemed to become lost in thought, knee bouncing as he rubbed at his forehead.

She reached out to him, putting a hand on his thigh. “...Lachy,” she said, “If you're leaving the States, then so am I.”

“Why?”

“Because.” she said. “I don't… I don't  _ have _ anybody here. Not in the way that I have you. Not in the way that we have each other.”

“Sure you do,” he sat up tall, as if everything was fine. “You've got that friend– Ruby, is it?”

Lacey wrung her hands together. “I  _ do. _ And she's great. But it's...”

“You don’t even have a plane ticket,” he said.

“Yeah, I do!” she shot back defensively. “I already blew my fucking savings on it, so if you don't like it– tough shit!”

He scoffed and hiked his brows. “What about your car?”

She leaned away from him, giving him an incredulous look. “Where do you think I got my savings  _ from?” _

Lachlan folded his arms over his chest and smacked his lips. “You sold your car...” he furrowed his brows, “so you could follow me to Scotland?”

She shrugged. “It was a piece of junk anyway.”

“Ye really  _ are _ daft,” he told her, and she smiled. “I thought you had it running like charm, though.”

“Eh...” Lacey hemmed and hawed, “...Gas mileage was a bitch.”

His eyes narrowed into skeptical little slits. “You  _ loved _ that car.”

“It’s in better hands than mine,” she said. “Sold it to this guy named Chris. Works at one of the body shops in town. Real nice guy.”

He slouched back into his chair, tucked his chin, staring down at his chest. 

_ “Totally _ wanted to get with this, by the way,” Lacey joked. “Had to tell him, _ ‘sorry dude– I'm married.’” _

His knee started to bounce again. “You know the weather in Scotland is shite, right?”

“I’ll buy a coat.”

“I'm talking about snow and pissing rain.”

“So?” Lacey shrugged. “I look really cute in boots.”

Lachlan looked at her with one of his lopsided smiles. “...After a week of being surrounded by Glaswegians, you won't think my accent is sexy anymore?” he reached.

Lacey wrinkled her nose. “I never said that it was.”

He scoffed and shook his head. His leg stopped bouncing again, and he dropped his hands to his thighs, rubbing them. “Alright,” he sighed. “Would you… like to come in?”

She bit back a smile. “I would.”

With a labored grunt, he pushed himself back up and jingled his keys into the lock, and Lacey got a sense of déjà vu as she waited behind him, recalling the first night she’d moved in. How much had changed.

Once inside she got a better look, and it was clear that he’d begun packing and clearing things out. Some corners were sparse, others messy works in progress.

She waited for him to finish kicking off his boots before throwing her arms around him. He stood stiffly, not returning her affection, not smiling as she pulled away, not looking at her.

“Why don't you have a seat?” He said, nodding toward the couch.

A chill crept over her skin, and Lacey took a seat, carefully moving the guitar out of the way.

Lachlan dragged his feet over to his desk and began rifling through all the papers scattered across its surface. He stopped at a large yellow envelope, taking a deep breath before carrying it over.

“When I said I wanted see you, I meant…” he sighed in hesitation before tossing it on the cushion beside her, the heavy thing landing with a  _ thwack. _

She stared down at it warily. “What's this?”

He wet his lips and looked at the floor. “Lace, don't make this–”

“What is it?” she demanded.

Lachlan swallowed. “Divorce papers,” he said.

She shook her head. “Lachy, I don't–”

“We should have filed years ago.”

“No,” she said. 

“This?” He pointed between them, “never should have happened.”

“No,” she sniffed. “No, don't say that.”

“Come on, Lace,” he said. “You can't possibly want to–”

_ “Don't tell me what I want,” _ she told him, her voice deep and throaty as she fought back tears.

“Lacey, I'm–  _ after everything I put you through?” _

She stood up and took his hands. “I forgive you,” she said, rubbing her thumbs over his wrists.

“I need to get better.”

“You  _ are  _ getting better,” she smiled. “No booze for three weeks? That’s–”

He shook his head and pulled away from her.

“What?” she frowned. “What happened?”

He covered his mouth with the back of his arm, refusing to look her. “The other night. I… I-I’m sorry. I just–” he cut himself off, drawing a trembling breath. “I can’t...”

_ “Hey,” _ Lacey hushed, starting to rub his back. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “So you relapsed. It’s… part of the process, you know?”

Lachlan pulled away from her again. “See,  _ this  _ is why…” he sniffed,  _ “this _ is why I can’t let you come. This is why you have to sign those.”

Lacey looked back at the envelope on the couch, feeling sick to her stomach. “No, This is why I  _ have  _ to come,” she said. “You're gonna need all the support you can get.”

He closed his eyes. “No,” he said. “I have a  _ problem, _ sweetheart. Don't make it yours. Don’t let me drag you–””

“Hey! Shut up and listen to me, alright?” Lacey said, grabbing him by the shoulders and cupping his face.  _ “I love you, you idiot.” _

He sputtered a little laugh, though his chin wobbled with oncoming tears. “And I love you too.”

Lacey wrapped her arms around him again, rocking him back and forth. “You know… When shit got hard with my mom, I stopped visiting her,” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “Then when shit got hard with my dad, I switched coasts to get away from it. And I regret it  _ so _ much, you know?”

She felt him nod, and pulled back to look at him. “And I left  _ you _ , too,” she said, tucking his hair behind his ear. “But now? Given this second chance? I wanna stay with you. I wanna stay  _ by  _ you.”

He shook his head. “You deserve better.”

“Well, of course I do!” she agreed playfully. “But did it ever occur to you that  _ maybe _ I’m just a  _ bottom of the barrel _ kind of bitch? I’d still be buying my fortified wine from the bottom shelf at Rite-Aid if I wasn’t already trying this whole sober thing out for myself!”

Lachlan’s shoulders bounced as he started to laugh, and Lacey’s heart soared when at last he cracked a smile.

“But seriously,” she said, splaying her hands over his chest to smooth out his shirt. “You're worth it. To me, you're worth it.”

He tilted his head at her. “You… you’re really gonnae try to go sober?”

Lacey grinned. “Well, I hate to brag, but I haven’t had a drink  _ or a cigarette _ in five days,” she said, draping her arms over his shoulders and waddling them back over to the couch.

He gave a deep nod of acknowledgement. “I’m impressed.”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “We can be each others’ _ accountability buddies...” _

_ “Hm…”  _ he considered for a moment. “Are there any other  _ benefits _ to that arrangement?”

Lacey nudged his leg with hers until he dropped onto the couch. Nibbling her lip, she made herself comfortable on his lap. “Wouldn’t  _ you  _ like to know?” she murmured, guiding his hands over her legs.

He dropped his arms back to his sides though, and looked away.

“What?” she asked, wiggling off of him and taking the spot beside him instead. “What’s wrong?”

Lachlan swallowed. “My own brother is  _ dead _ because of me,” he reminded her.

Lacey took one of his hands, squeezing it. “I know, baby. I know, and I  _ still _ think you're worth it. I  _ know  _ you are.”

He took a deep breath. “You really want to come with me?” he asked.

Lacey lifted his chin so she could look him in the eyes. “I do,” she nodded. “If you want me to.”

Lachlan smiled and laced their fingers. “I do.”


End file.
